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‘She stood like one in a trance— the poor sore hands crossed upon the board 
before her ; the wrinkled face blanched; eyes wide open and staring; toothless 
jaws agap; breath coming and going in quick convulsive sobs; the whole soul 
wakened to a life the poor old body could never know again .” — Page 12. 


WAS IT AN INHERITANCE? 


OR, 


NANNIE GRANT. 


A NARRATIVE. 


^ r & 

By MRS. H. N< K. $OFF, 

Author o/“ The Old Distillery and other Tales. 


“ Visiting the iniquities of the fathers upon the children to the 
third and fourth generation.”— Exodus xx., 5. 


PHILADELPHIA: 



CLAXTON, REMSEN & HAFFELFINGER. 

1876. 



-pz -" 5 

.Or 5 * 3 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1876, by 
Mbs. HARRIET N. K. GOFF, 
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 




Edmund Deacon, Printer, 
38 Hudson Street. 


PREFACE. 


If this book — the result of earnest and honest effort, 
shall give courage to one fainting heart ; consolation 
to one wounded spirit ; nerve to one weary arm ; de- 
cision to one soul that stands faltering in the path of 
life; or awaken one individual to a sense of obligation 
to the generations present or to come, that shall de- 
clare itself in deeds ; then shall the highest remunera- 
tion be gratefully acknowledged by 


The Author. 






* 














































i 










% 
























CONTENTS. 


CHAPTERS. PAGE. 

I. — Introductions. .... 7 

II. — Experience as Educator. . . .25 

III. — A Wedding. . . . .35 

IV. — Guests, Welcome and Unwelcome. . 44 

V. — Perverting Life, and Winging from 

Life. . . . . . .61 

VI. — Obstinate, yet Weak. . . .83 

VII. — Seeking her Place. . . .104 

VIII.— A Tragedy. . . . .130 

IX. — What is Her Place ? . . .149 

X. — An Unexpected Calamity. . . 167 

XI. — Down to the Valley. . . .182 

XII.— Is it Good? 196 

XIII. — In the Darkness 216 

XIV. — “More Difficult to Cure.” . . 239 

XV. — Perseverance and Success. . .266 

XVI.— Unequal .Conflicts. . . .283 

XVII.— Reunited 314 

XVIII.— Released 327 





















































































































































































































CHAPTEK I. 


INTRODUCTIONS. 

I T was Thanksgiving day of the year 18 — , and 
the Honorable Mrs. Grant had invited all the 
surviving members of both the Grant and Went- 
worth families to celebrate the day at her spacious 

mansion in L , Connecticut. 

Mrs. Grant was, by blood, a Wentworth. 

Snow lay deep over and among the hills, and the 
cold was so severe that many of the strictest church- 
goers of the village absented themselves from divine 
service on that morning. The wind whistled down 
the valley, and the two old elm trees, which always 
seemed hospitably nodding and beckoning from their 
positions on either side of Mr. Grant’s front gate, 
sighed and groaned audibly as they bent their crowns, 
and, lifting their long, drooping branches, whisked 
the snow from the leafless jasmine and honey-suckle 
that intertwined about the windows of the upper story 
of the house. 

Dr. Phelps and his wife (the latter was Mrs. 
Grant’s half-sister) walked directly from the “ meet- 
ing-house” to the residence of their brother-in-law, 


8 


Was it an Inheritance f 


ana were accompanied by their daughter Mary and 
her husband, the Rev. Mr. Gilbert, of Hartford. 

They stood stamping the snow from their feet upon 
the broad, old-fashioned door-steps, when the young- 
est heir of the Grant and Wentworth blood and 
estates came bounding around the corner of the 
house, with a long string of sleigh-bells strapped 
about his person, and followed by a dashing new sled. 

“ Uncle Phelps ! oh, uncle ! just see my new sled 
and bells l” he shouted. “ I’m a splendid horse ! 
Take care, Sadie, or I shall tip you over !” and he 
pranced about the wide path, in imitation of a restiff 
steed. 

“Ha! ha! that is fine sport,” said the doctor, as he 
ran down the steps and tucked the blanket more 
closely about the young girl who sat upon the sled. 
“What a jingling! Now away, and mind your 
capers, sir horse. Hud up !” 

Dr. P was a little above the medium height, 

broad-chested, and rather broad in his entire form, 
without corpulence, having a large head, a broad 
forehead that hung beetling over quick, gray eyes, and 
a nose decidedly aquiline. He was a strong comba- 
tant, an original thinker, a skilful physician, and a 
high-minded, Christian philanthropist. 

A servant admitted him and his companions, at the 
summons of the heavy old brass knocker, and group 
after group followed, hurrying and laughing, under 
the influence of the tonic atmosphere. They were 
ushered into the broad hall, up to the warm dressing- 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


9 


rooms, where open wood-fires greeted them with a 
cheery welcome, and thence to the parlor below, where 
they were cordially received by their host and hostess. 

Mr. Grant was between forty and fifty years of 
age, rather stout, and somewhat imposing in personal 
appearance, though even while exchanging greetings 
with him, one instinctively felt that to preserve har- 
mony in intercourse with him, his prejudices must be 
indulged. 

His wife, past forty, was a charming, petite beauty, 
with clear, healthful complexion, merry black eyes, 
and hair as dark as a raven’s wing, which lay in 
shining waves about her shapely head, and escaped 
from her dainty cap in little rollicking ringlets, co- 
quetted with its pink ribbons, and strayed over the 
shoulder of her rich velvet bodice. 

Years and society had given her dignity, but her 
grace was natural, her wit was quick and sparkling, 
and her laugh contagious. 

Mr. Grant was the only son of his parents, and one 
of his two sisters had, within the past year, fol- 
lowed their mother to that land from whence the 
most urgent invitation could not recall them — beyond 
the dark waters which had hidden the husband and 
father long years before. So his sister Abbie — now 
the widow Wilson — and her daughter Julia, who had 
just arrived from New Hampshire, were the only 
visiting representatives of his immediate family. 

All Mrs. Grant’s brothers, three in number, were 
deceased — Benjamin, near her own age, and two 
1 * 


10 


Was it an Inheritance f 


others, born to her father by a union prior to that 
with her mother. The first named left no children, 
and those of the last two excused themselves from 
accepting the invitation which had been duly mailed 
to Boston for them. 

So the company consisted largely of distant rela- 
tives, but we shall confine our acquaintance to the 
households already mentioned, and the village pastor. 

The eleven o’clock stage did not arrive till after 
noon on that day, on account of the extreme cold and the 
heavy fall of snow on the previous night ; and as it had 
brought Mrs. Wilson and her daughter, they were 
yet in their private room when the last guest arrived. 

Mrs. Grant stole from the parlor, and tapped gently 
at the door of the apartment. Though the residence 
of her sister-in-law seems to us, with our modern 
facilities for travel, to have been comparatively but 
at the next door, under the inconveniences and cus- 
toms of that day she had become quite a stranger 
among her relatives and former neighbors, never hav- 
ing visited L since Julia (who was, at the time we 

write of, fully eighteen years of age) was wrapped in 
her baby mantle, and, in her little chair, tucked away 
down in the huge sleigh under the buffalo-robe, se- 
cure from the cold, but where baby Abby, nestling in 
mother’s lap, could occasionally beat a tattoo with her 
tiny feet upon poor Julia’s head. 

“ Excuse me,” said the hostess, “ but as we dine 
soon, and you will need introductions, I will escort 
you down, if you are ready.” 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


11 


“ Thank you, sister Nannie,” said Mrs. Wilson. 
“ Of course the children have all grown beyond my 
recollection, and Julia is an utter stranger among her 
relatives.” 

“ Dear little Julia! But you will soon be quite at 
home with us all,” and, with a little rippling laugh, 
Mrs. Grant reached up to pass her arm about the 
waist of her tall niece. 

“Dear little Julia!” repeated the young lady. 
“ Ha ! ha ! How have you lived so long, Auntie, 
when you are so short ?” 

The two approached the parlor in easy merriment. 
“ This is Uncle and Aunt Phelps,” said Mrs. Grant, 
on entering, “ and as they are uncle and aunt to every 
young person in the village, Julia will receive them 
as such.” 

Mrs. Phelps arrested the eye and attracted the 
heart at once. Her face was plainer than her 
sister’s, but strength and sweetness blended there 
harmoniously. She was also taller and larger 
than Mrs. Grant, and her soft brown tresses lay 
straight and smooth about a higher and broader 
brow; and her neat cap, with its white ribbons, 
scarcely covered the wealth of their rich braids. A 
gentle strength pervaded all her movements, but her 
voice was her chief charm — so tender, affectionate, 
one might almost say, so full of tears — one, perhaps, 
where hope had been transplanted, but only to take 
deeper root in a richer soil. A richness of modula- 
tion ran through every tone, revealing a deep and 


12 Was it an Inheritance f 

loving nature, whose culture had extended far down 
into the subsoil. 

“ Darling Wywy, as you, Julia, used to call Willie, 
follows the sea,” continued Mrs. Grant ; “ but we are 
comforted in his absence in knowing that he is a truly 
trustworthy captain,” and she glanced proudly to- 
wards her husband. “ Johnny, you know, sleeps in 
the churchyard, ‘ Not he, but the little body he once 
wore/ sister Mollie and dear mother said ; but I could 
never feel quite so indifferent about the body. It 
seems to me I could never sleep another night if 
Willie was lost at sea. 

“ Abbie, your namesake, is also absent. She 
married Fred Sacket, you know, and last summer 
they moved away out to Western Pennsylvania, and 
I suppose they are buried in the woods in some shanty. 
Fred is one of the finest-looking young men I ever 
saw, and as kind-hearted as he is handsome. I hope 
Abbie is happy, but fear she sighs for old associations. 

“ This is George, our third son, who can speak for 
himself,” and she presented a tall young man who 
had just attained his majority. He was of robust 
constitution, had soft, laughing, and mischievous 
brown eyes, a slight touch of swagger in his man- 
ners; apparently a good-natured, jolly sort of boy; 
a little wayward and contrary, but this mainly through 
a love of teazing ; evidently averse to rigid rules, by 
whomsoever administered, and seemed incapable of 
such administration upon himself. 

The next was Joseph, about nineteen years of age. 


13 


Or , Nannie Grant. 

A slight, elastic frame, even and delicate features, 
rosy cheeks, blue-gray eyes that were large and full, 
a broad brow overshadowed by a profusion of brown 
curls. He was frank, generous, ardent, true as steel, 
and fond of study — the favorite of all his acquaint- 
ances. 

Lucy, just past sixteen, rosy and fresh, was her 
mother reproduced, with a shade less of impulsiveness. 

Sarah, now just returned from her sled-ride, was 
next presented to her aunt and cousin. She was a 
pale, thoughtful girl, of nearly fourteen years, ordina- 
rily slow in her thoughts and movements, not mirth- 
ful, yet often causing mirth by the honest eccentricity 
of her ideas. Deeply sensitive in her nature, she was 
affectionate, and generous in unostentatious sacrifice ; 
given to dreamy abstractions, yet sympathetically re- 
sponsive to the moods of others, as the needle to the 
magnet. Though seldom meeting unkindness to her- 
self with stronger resistance than tears, a strong spirit 
slumbered in the depths beneath that soft exterior, 
and, on occasion, sometimes overflowed with a sud- 
denness and energy that was sweeping as a tornado, 
and produced a complete though transient transforma- 
tion of the girl. But only through her benevolence 
or conscience could she be thus aroused. 

Seth was about nine years old, large, strong, and 
healthy, with a clear complexion, large, dark-blue 
eyes, that deepened to violet and sparkled like stars 
under the stimulus of fun or mischief ; dark-brown 
hair that, slightly curling, shaded a forehead in which 


14 


Was it an Inheritance f 


a modern phrenologist would have readily detected 
the source of the “why?” and “how?” which were 
the standing annoyance of his elders in the household. 
He was restless and irrepressible — an independent, 
self-asserting boy, who would not brook control, but 
preferred to circumvent, rather than defy it. 

“ And now that I have presented your relatives in 
the persons of my own family,” said the hostess, “ if you 
please, I will introduce you to the family of my sister. 
This is Mary Phelps i that was , 1 and her husband, 
the Rev. Mr. Gilbert ; and I think you will find them 
quite as agreeable as their prepossessing appearance 
indicates. This is Thomas Phelps. He is just twenty- 
two yeark old to-day, and the image of his father in 
mind and heart, as he is in person, and is so ardently 
studying for the same profession, that my brother-in- 
law expects soon to be outdone.” 

“ Take care,” said Mrs. Wilson, “ or you may de- 
prive yourself of one of the first requisites of your 
chosen profession — good health.” 

“I assure you I am far from being a sick man yet,” 
he replied ; and, clenching his right fist, he laid her 
hand upon the iron muscles of that arm, adding, 
“ here lies the hope of salvation for my brain.” 

‘ My nephew, Henry, is still in school, and has not 
yet announced his plans for the future,” resumed the 
hostess. “ He is such a dutiful son at twenty years 
pf age that we can trust while we wait. This is his 
sister Ruth, and I leave you to become acquainted 
with her at your leisure.” 


Or, Nannie Ch'ant. 


15 


“ The dearest girl of all,” thought Mrs. W , as 

she kissed her cheek. A fine, firm skin, not remark- 
ably white; full, clear, gray eyes, shaded by long 
lashes ; a broad brow, hair and mouth like her mo- 
ther’s, and her father’s inquisitive and defensive nose. 
She was of medium height, symmetrical form, with 
quiet and graceful movements, and, in short, pos- 
sessed the best points of both her parents. 

Dinner was soon announced; but, on proceeding 
to the spacious dining-room, Mrs. Grant suddenly 
exclaimed, “ Our pastor has not yet arrived /” 

Mr. Grant signed the guests to be seated, but delayed 
the repast, while Seth ran out to ascertain the cause of 
the minister’s tardiness. He soon returned, saying, 
“ There’s a great crowd of men around Bob Jones’s 
sleigh in front of the tavern, and Mr. Reynolds has 
been standing there too ; but when he saw me, he 
started this way, and is coming now. Here he is.” 

On entering, the reverend gentleman replied to the 
inquiring glances that met him, “ It is poor James 
Russell, who left the tavern last night about half-past 
nine o’clock, and, when less than half a mile on his 
way home, evidently laid down by the roadside, and 
is now frozen to death.” 

“ Is it possible ?” was the general exclamation. 

“ This morning,” the minister resumed, “ his wife 
waded nearly a mile through the deep drifts to Robert 
Jones’s, and, by his account, had hard work to induce 
him to go and look for c Jim,’ as the men all called 
him. Mr. Jones thought he had probably remained 


16 


Was it an Inher itance f 


at the tavern, on account of the storm, and would 
ride home with some of the neighbors as they re- 
turned from church to-day; but Mrs. Russell said 
the neighbors *would not invite him, and she kneAv he 
would not ask them; he was too proud. Besides 
that, she felt sure he had started home last night ; 
and had it not been that her babe is too young to 
leave with the children, and another one, two years 
old, had a touch of the croup, she would have gone 
to look for him before morning. Her oldest child, 
they tell me, is but eight years of age, and she has 
four. Mr. Jones thought her alarm entirely unne- 
cessary ; but she made such an ado, and seemed re- 
solved to go herself, and on foot, if he did not at- 
tempt the search, that he was at last rather compelled 
to start out. He examined every drift along the way, 
till at last he found him in the gorge up here, lying 
close beside the track where the sleighs came down to 
church, but buried so deeply in snow that people 
doubtless mistook him for a stone or W.” 

O 

The dinner remained untouched for some moments 
while this dreadful “dispensation” was discussed. 

“ Poor Mrs. Russell !” said Mrs. Phelps. “ Little 
indeed can be said or done to comfort her.” 

“ I wonder if she and her little brood have any- 
thing in the house to eat,” said Mrs. Grant, as she 
glanced over her own sumptuously-spread board. “I 
suppose they are very poor, and I think we ought to 
send Patrick over after dinner ; shall we not ?” ad- 
dressing her husband. 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


17 


“ Certainly, certainly,” said that gentleman. “ Send 
whatever you think best.” 

Dr. Phelps had arisen hastily and joined the crowd 
about the sleigh in front of the tavern. Every one 
stood back to let him pass. He looked upon the 
dead face, and attempted to raise the arm. It was 
frozen stiff. No chance of remaining life. 

“ Here is another warning,” said he, “ to those who 
drink ardent spirits, and it is to you, too, who drink 
moderately ; for Jim was not long a drunkard.” 

The doctor turned sadly, and re-entered the house. 

“This is truly a lamentable affair,” said Parson 
Reynolds to his clerical brother from Hartford, as the 
first course was brought in. 

“Truly, truly,” replied that gentleman. “Is it 
supposed that illness or fatigue caused the man to 
lie down so soon? He could scarcely have been 
overcome by the cold at so short a distance from the 
Village.” 

“ Oh, he has been intemperate some two or three 
years past,” said Mr. Grant, “ and I suppose he had 
taken too much.” 

“ That’s it,” said George ; “ no doubt of it.” 

“Mr. Van Horn said he started out about nine 
o’clock, but soon returned, and begged him to trust 
him to a half-pint of whiskey, (he had been drink- 
ing a little),” added Mr. Reynolds. “ Russell thought 
the wind was so cold that it was unsafe for him to 
attempt the walk without something to warm him up. 
Mr. Yan Horn hesitated, he says, Jim was such 


18 


Was it an Inheritance f 


poor pay ; but he begged so hard that he could not 
deny him, and gave him a half-pint in a bottle.” 

“ Was there any found in the bottle?” asked Mr. 
Grant. 

“ Not a drop. The landlord says he warned him 
not to take much at a time, but thinks he took it all 
at once.” 

“ Half-a-pint ? Why that isn’t much for a man 
like him to take at a dram. I guess, if the truth was 
known, he was pretty well corned when he started out, 
and likely as not he had been sitting around the bar- 
room all day drinking, but eating nothing.” 

“ That is it,” said Dr. Phelps. “ The liquor had 
been raking up all the fuel his breakfast had supplied 
to his blood, and had burnt it out at fever heat, while 
in-doors ; and then, with his blood in this exhausted 
state, the heat and strength-producing elements all 
consumed, Van Horn gave him a poker to stir the 
ashes with, and sent him off. The poker proved too 
heavy, and he laid down and froze to death. If any 
other man in the village had done that by poor Jim 
— a doctor or a druggist, for instance — he would have 
been mobbed before the law could have disposed of 
him. But here is an ignorant man authorized to dis- 
pose of a virulent poison, just as the poor, deluded, 
demented purchaser wishes to procure or use it ! 

“ Well, the consequence is, there is a frantic woman 
up there in a hovel, surrounded by four fatherless 
children that the town must bring up, and who will 
take their father’s olace, and become the parents of 


19 


Or, Nannie Grant . 

another batch of paupers, in all probability ; for a 
drunkard’s children are rarely healthy either in body 
or soul ; and if there’s truth in Holy Writ, there’s 
another soul in perdition. And who is the gainer in 
the whole affair? Though Jim’s farm and stock 
have been transferred to Van Horn’s possession, I 
cannot think he has been the gainer, when I see how 
his boys are going on, or observe his own rum-blos- 
somed countenance.” 

“ It might not have been amiss if old Van had 
lent Jim Russell an overcoat, or even kept him all 
night,” said Joe. “All the overcoats the poor fellow 
ought to have had this long time, have gone into old 
Van’s till, for tip.” 

“ That’s so,” said George. “ It’s a pity a fellow 
shouldn’t have sense enough to stop drinking when 
he’s got enough, as he would stop eating.” 

“Now,” said Mr. Grant, laying down his knife 
and fork, “ I don’t wonder so much when a man like 
Jim Russell goes down by drink — becomes a slave to 
his animal nature — because that is a strong part of 
his nature in the first place; but when a man like 
Judge Marshall — an intellectual, cultivated gentle- 
man, with not only common sense, but uncommon 
sense, and such a powerful will as all who knew him 
knew his to be — when such a man capsizes, and lets 
the animal in him trample on all that is high and 
noble, I confess I cannot understand it.” 

“ That is owing to ignorance of physiology,” re- 
joined the doctor. “ People ever so intelligent upon 


20 


Was it an Inheritance f 


other subjects allow themselves to be as ignorant as 
babes,, of the construction and laws of their own bo- 
dies. I have watched and studied this subject for 
years, and it is a fearful fact, that the effect of stimu- 
lants becomes such a strong habit of the system as 
sometimes leaves their use no longer a matter of choice. 
The man has actually chained his own reason. His 
will is dethroned , and gropes in vain among the ashes 
of that throne for even the dust of his former diadem. 
The body becomes so diseased that it actually kills 
the soul ! ” 

“Ha! ha! I’m afraid that is scarcely orthodox,” 
said Mr. Grant.. “ You see the man must be respon- 
sible, because the Scriptures say, .J No drunkard can 
inherit the kingdom of God and you cannot sup- 
pose a man is sent to hell for what he- cannot help ?” 

“ Every man can help being a drunkard, and ought 
to help it; but the question is, ‘ When can he help it?’ 
There is a time when it is, to say the least, almost 
impossible to help it — a time when he has committed 
the physical sin, ,or, rather, the sin against his physi- 
cal nature, that is physically unpardonable, and there 
remains no more remission of sin in his case. If a 
man were to cut off his own hand, all the repentance 
in the world could not restore it. So, when his brain 
and nervous system have reached a certain point of 
disorganization, only a miracle can restore it.” 

A pause ensued, broken at length by the Rev. Mr. 
Reynolds, who said, “ But the Christian may partake of 
every good creature of God in moderation, with safety.” 


Or, Nannie Grant, 


21 


“ I do not acknowledge this to be a ‘ good creature 
of God/ and I know of nothing in the revealed Word 
of God, or of any revealed fact, that gives me leave 
to infer that the Christian is not subject to the same 
physical laws as the sinner. If either of us, Mr. 
Reynolds, puts a hand into the fire, it will be burned, 
no difference whether we curse or pray. If we take 
arsenic, we shall be poisoned, as certainly as would a 
murderer. Alcohol is as truly a poison as arsenic, 
and if you take either, the grace of God will not in- 
terfere to annul the consequences.” 

During all this discussion, and much more that fol- 
lowed, the repast was also discussed, Mr. Grant and his 
pastor treating the doctor’s ideas rather lightly as they 
proceeded, and appearing to think him a little fanatical. 

At length the host arose, and, taking a delicate 
little goblet which had been placed beside his plate, 
and the counterpart of which stood beside that of 
every guest, and which had been filled with choicest 
wine, in which he took great pride, he elevated it to 
the light to bring out its richest glow, and said, “ If 
we yield to the doctor, that ardent spirits are danger- 
ous, in this harmless and delightful beverage we may 
all drink to the memories of the happy past and the 
hopes of many a reunion in the future.” 

He raised his glass to his lips, and most of the 
guests followed his example. 

“ Stay !” said the doctor, raising his hand. 

All eyes were upon him, while tears stood in his 
own and his voice trembled with emotion. 


22 


Was it an Inheritance f 


ct My dear brother, said he, a I respond most heart- 
ily to yonr concluding sentiment. No one present 
clings more fondly to those memories than I do, no 
one appreciates the social pleasures of the present 
hour more than myself, no one prays more fervently 
than I do that we may see all these faces ” (a 
tender glance resting on each individual, especially 
the younger ones) “ often and often again assem- 
bled around our Thanksgiving tables ; but, my dear 
brother, it is because I wish so earnestly that this 
may be so, that I must decline to drink this toast in 
wine. ‘ Wine is a mocker/ ‘ and whoso is deceived 
thereby is not wise? How shall we be sure that we 
shall not be deceived if we listen to the voice of the 
mocker ? I said every man can help being a drunk- 
ard, and ought to help it ; but the question is when 
and how can he help it ? I say, upon my honor as a 
Christian man, and my knowledge as a professional 
man, there is a time when it is possible to help it, and 
there is a time, liable to reach every one, who by mod- 
erate drinking, invites that doom, when it is physically 
impossible, and, therefore, morally impossible, except 
by an intervention well-nigh, if not quite equal to, a 
miracle ; and if we presume upon God’s especial in- 
terference in our behalf, i He will laugh at our calam- 
ity and mock when our fear cometh.’ Where is 
that turning-point? No MAN knows till he has 
passed it. Shall we sip till we have intimations 
that we have passed it, and then attempt to row 
up the stream, whose shore we now think it requires 


23 


Or, Nannie Grant. 

too much effort to reach ? Wine is a mocker ! It 
will deceive ! it will mislead its victim till the Rubicon 
is passed ! Oh, let us be wise, and turn our backs 
upon the syren while we may !” Saying which he 
sipped from a goblet of water that stood before him, 
and all except Mr. Grant, as by one impulse, followed 
him. The host was evidently chagrined that his fa- 
vorite wine remained untasted by his guests ; but his 
son George, soon after leaving the dining-room, slipped 
back again, and tipped off his glass at a draught. 
Ruth Phelps entered just as he was returning the 
empty goblet to the table. Her great penetrating 
eyes met his with an expression of sad surprise that 
made the color mount to his temples ; but he affected 
an air of bravado, commenced whistling softly, and 
sauntered out on to u the stoop.” Of all his cousins 
Ruth was his favorite, and she possessed an influence 
over him that no one else could command ; perhaps 
because she never seemed to attempt any. 

Dr. Phelps had spoken with great earnestness and 
such fervor as none of those present had ever before 
seen him exhibit. All were impressed with his evi- 
dent conviction of the truth of what he uttered, 
though the subject and the arguments for total absti- 
nence were new to them ; for though the doctor had 
long been investigating the subject, his conclusions 
had been but recently attained, and never before so 
decidedly expressed. 

The evening passed pleasantly, enlivened by con- 
versation, songs, games, and even the contra-dance 


24 


Wa$ it an Inheritance f 


and cotillion ; but, as all things must, it had an end, 
and just at twelve o'clock the last reluctant foot left 
the door, and the family and their more permanent 
guests retired to their several apartments. 

Whether the reasoning of Dr. Phelps or that of Mr. 
Grant was the wisest, the history of those present, as 
we shall endeavor to delineate it in the following 
pages, must illustrate and decide. 

Host and hostess congratulated themselves and each 
other upon the success of the entertainment, but we 
can scarcely conceive the anguish and accusations that 
must have displaced their gratification and compla- 
cency, could they have seen the black, impending cloud 
above their best-beloved, charged, by their own acts, 
with the blasting thunderbolt which they were pow- 
erless to control. 


Or, Nannie Grant 


25 


CHAPTER II. 


EXPERIENCE AS EDUCATOR. 

S the object of this narrative is to portray the 



-jLJl. the origin, and some of the ramifications, rela- 
tions, and culminations of certain wide-spread mental 
and physical conditions, let us go back to the genera- 
tion preceding that to which our heroine belongs; 
and thus, by learning some of their antecedents, be 
the better prepared to understand her and her asso- 


ciates. 


Captain Ross, the father of Mrs. Phelps, followed 
the sea, and there met his death. His ship was spoken 
near the Gulf of Mexico, and never seen afterwards. 
Mollie, his only child, was born four months after 
his young wife bade him adieu, and was nearly five 
years old when her mother became the wife of Judge 
Wentworth, a widower of three years standing, and 
the father of two sons, aged ten and thirteen years, 
respectively. 

Mrs. Ross was an estimable woman, of highly re- 
ligious nature, and whose early affliction wrought a 
remarkably refining and elevating influence upon her 
entire character. 

She possessed, in large measure, what the people of 
New England call “ faculty,” and Western people 


26 


Was it an Inheritance f 


call “ knack,” and had, in widowhood, succeeded in 
securing a comfortable and respectable maintenance 
for herself and child, though the possessions left her 
by Captain Ross were limited. 

Judge Wentworth was a man of comparative 
wealth, and, upon his second marriage, the property 
left by Captain Ross, being of the kind legally de- 
nominated “ personal,” fell into his hands. 

A friend suggested to the widow that the little 
estate should be settled upon her child, prior to her 
marriage; but she promptly repelled the idea. “ I 
would not trust my happiness in the hands of a man 
to whose honor I could not trust my property ,” she 
said;, and trusted both to the care of the highly re- 
spected, judge, who, although accounted an honorable 
man ambng his peers, as husband , soon disposed of 
her salable property, even without her consent or 
knowledge, and always gave but grudgingly for 
Mollie’s necessities. 

When Mrs. Wentworth intimated that an equivo- 
lent to the captain’s property was due his child, he 
replied : “ If there is any property on the premises to 
which she can lay claim, it can be recovered at law ; 
not otherwise.” 

As a step-mother, she was all to her husband’s sons 
that any but an own mother could have been ; but her 
labors of love were unavailing to win them to the 
noble standard of manhood she desired them to attain. 

Of John, the elder, we need only say that he was 
his father’s namesake, became a man of average 

7 o 


27 


Or , Nannie Grant . 

ability, and a successful manufacturer of cloths, an 
occupation then just commencing to pass from the 
hands of the wives and daughters at the domestic 
hearths. 

The second son, James, was the superior of his 
brother in intellect, was comely in person, command- 
ing in figure, inflexible in will, revengeful in disposi- 
tion. 

Not the least evidence of affection was ever visible 
between this father and his sons ; yet the influence 
James exerted over the judge was surprising ; espe- 
cially in consideration of the superiority of the latter, 
both in years and ability ; and the son did not fail to 
use this power for his own interest. 

Years sped on, and Mollie- ,Ross became a woman. 
James Wentworth had the good judgment to discern 
in her what appeared to him an assemblage of all wo- 
manly virtues, and sought to possess himself of them 
by making her his wife. 

She failed to find her ideal in him ; and had too 
true a nature to deceive him, when she became aware 
of his sentiments ; but his dominative disposition could 
not yield to her decision. He persisted in his atten- 
tions and addresses, till her life, at her mother’s house, 
became so uncomfortable that she secured a position 
as teacher of a small school in an adjoining State, and 
removed herself from his vicinity, even at the cost of 
a painful separation from the society of her mother, 
whose health appeared to be slowly declining. But 
even there he followed her, their family relations being 


28 


Was it an Inheritance? 


such as made it most difficult to effectually repulse 
him. 

When at length, after months of persistent persecu- 
tion in this wise, he ascertained that her affections 
were given to another, all the revengefulness of his 
disposition was aroused, and he resolved to blight her 
happiness if possible. 

Nannie Wentworth was eight years the junior of 
her half-sister — a wide interval to divide the sympa- 
thies of two sisters ; impassable in early life to the 
younger, but always capable of bridgement from the 
older’s side. 

Nannie had slept in Mollie’s arms ever since she 
left those of her mother; and every childish or 
maidenly joy or grief of hers was shared by her older 
sister; though, alas! many a sorrow had her heart 
known that the younger could never understand. 
These she had confided to her mother, till warned by 
unmistakable symptoms that the disquietudes borne 
by that dear one must be lightened, or her sympa- 
thetic heart would cease to throb. 

Reminded almost hourly of her dependence, Mollie 
painfully realized that the position of a daughter, 
which she nominally occupied in her step-father’s 
house, was no reality, and never felt the welcome so 
ostentatiously displayed in the presence of strangers ; 
hence an earnest desire for self-maintenance early 
took possession of her. 

Industrious by nature, and gifted with taste and 
the power of construction well-nigh amounting to 


Or, Nannie Grant 


29 


genius, and endowed with an aptness for teaching, she 
early managed, with tact and economy, to clothe her- 
self in a style becoming the society in which she 
moved, though a full day at her needle brought her 
but twenty-five cents , and a hard week’s work in the 
school-room but seventy-five cents . Though her 
mother’s delicate health made her nimble fingers in- 
dispensable to the household’s comfort, that fact was 
never recognized or recompensed by the judge, after 
Mollie had reached her sixteenth year. 

During the first summer of “ district-school ” teach- 
ing in Massachusetts, she made the acquaintance of a 
young lawyer, who won her affections and promise of 
marriage. Learning of this, James Wentworth took 
secret and circuitous measures to poison his mind 
with slanders of the basest sort. Not direct accusa- 
tions, that might have been refuted, but hints and 
insidious intimations prejudicial to Mollie’s fair 

fame. And when Mr. L , the young lawyer 

referred to, traced the rumors to their true source, 
they were made to appear so specious and con- 
clusive, that, failing to comprehend the baseness of 
such a nature, he mistook it for nobility that would 
not allow the sacrifice of an unsuspecting stranger, 
even at the risk of personal humiliation ; for was not 
the publicity of these things derogatory to the re- 
spectability of the whole family ? 

These facts were conveyed to the young girl by a 
letter, signed by three of her most intimate female 
friends. How her heart leaped when she saw that the 


30 


Was it an Inheritance f 


post-mark was B ; for Mr. L had not writ- 

ten her in two months ; but the address was in an un- 
familiar hand. She flew to her room, trembling, and 
overwhelmed with forebodings of calamity to him, 
and dropped upon her knees. Still in that attitude, 
she broke the seal and read, without a change of posi- 
tion, a sigh or a tear, to the concluding words, which 
were as follows : 

“ We would not have written these things to you, 

dear Mollie, but Mr. L says he has not done so, 

and he is now, in this short time, paying very marked 
attention to a girl (we will not say lady) who was far 
from being your friend last summer ; and we thought 
if he is still keeping you in suspense, it is just too had. 
With all our hearts we are 
“Your true friends, 

“ Jane, Laura and Caroline.” 

These were her mother’s relatives, and she had 
every reason to suppose they were what they professed 
to be — her true friends. 

She dropped the sheet, folded her hands tightly 
across her brow, and gazed wildly about the room, 
then bowed her head, still covered by her hands, upon 
the floor. Then rising again, a vacant stare sat on 
her face, and she pressed her head tighter and tighter, 
as if to retain her senses. Then suddenly unclench- 
ing her fingers, and spreading her arms out wildly 
into the surrounding darkness, — darkness long e’er 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


31 


the sun had set, — she cried in the depth of her 
anguish, “My God! my God! hast thou forsaken 
me?” 

She sallied oyer upon the floor, and lay in external 
quiet, but her soul was tossed and torn by the most 
exquisite torture. Love, hate, pride, shame, self-love, 
love of approbation, scorn, contempt, anger, and re- 
venge held fearful combat. Such struggles come but 
once to any soul, and are always incomprehensible to 
many natures. 

For nearly two hours she lay there so quietly that 
eight-year-old Nannie tiptoed to her side unheard, 
and, thinking her asleep, crept softly down-stairs 
again. 

Yet amidst all this mental tumult, Faith stood with 
uplifted finger, waiting her opportunity to say, “All 
things shall work together for good to those that love 
the Lord.” 

At length darkness really settled upon the earth, 
and Mollie Ross crept from the floor, and gazed out 
upon the stars, praying — oh, so earnestly ! — for death. 

A messenger came to ask her assistance at a neigh- 
bor's house, where an infant, just beginning to taste 
the honey-laden dew on life's earliest flowers, had 
been snatched suddenly away and awarded its crown 
of life eternal. She obeyed the summons, but lagged 
behind her companions on the way, — so weak and 
weary, body, heart, and soul, that her anguish seemed 
an insupportable load — a hidden cross of which no 
kind Cyrenean might know, or relieve her. 


32 


Was it an Inheritance? 


The day had been sultry, and there were at this 
time threatenings of rain. Down in the woods, at the 
left, the will-o’-the-wisp was dancing, rising sometimes 
to the height of the lower branches of full-grown trees, 
then suddenly dropping again and creeping along the 
ground, then sailing away back into the depths of the 
forest, and then floating to the edge bordering the 
open fields. 

When they left the Wentworth mansion a goodly 
portion of the sky was clear, but a small black cloud 
was soon seen rising from the west. Gradually it 
spread, and others seemed to spring into existence, 
and spread themselves over the whole canopy. 

When the young people reached their destination, 
not a star was visible, and the low mutterings of 
thunder had become loud peals, preceded by blinding 
flashes of lightning. 

An instantaneous glare, followed quickly by a crash, 
that shook the house to its foundations, was their in- 
troduction to the chamber of death. 

The form of the sweet little infant lay, with folded 
hands and a serene smile upon its lips, unconscious 
alike of earthly storm and calm, grief and joy, hope 
and despair. 

' Mollie gazed long upon that lovely image of peace- 
ful rest, and then went out and leaned against a pillar 
of “the back porch.” 

Her tossed and troubled soul had much in sympa- 
thy with the storm. The lightning played with won- 
derful velocity and constancy down in the forest where 


Or, Nannie Grant 33 

she had before watched the will-o’-the-wisp, which 
had now assumed another form. 

Fiery darts and chains followed each other in quick 
succession, and trees fell with every volley discharged 
by the celestial artillery. 

The poisonous gases that had secretly lurked among 
the foliage of that swamp, had given birth to an ele- 
ment that had gathered into squads that flashed their 
blank cartridges as they drilled for the conflict between 
purity and poison, life and death ; and as the hosts 
were combined for the mighty battle, what wonder 
that the fiery bolts of heaven descended thick into the 
morasses that gave them birth, even though they 
smote to earth noble trees that had fostered their in- 
fancy. Those stately trees were the workmanship of 
the God of life and purity, and men had looked upon 
their height and symmetry, and, echoing the verdict 
of the Creator, had said, “ It is good yet, standing 
where He placed them, growing as He bade them, 
they had sheltered and fostered the accumulation of 
these destructive elements, by shutting out the sunlight 
and free atmosphere of day, and the very elements 
they had nurtured now “ smote them hip and thigh,” 
and laid their crowns in the filthy pools whose stag- 
nant waters they had robbed of purifying influences. 
To-day that swamp was the chosen seat of malaria, 
to-morrow one may walk there in safety. 

A dim, confused sense of all these facts wandered 
through poor Mollie’s brain as she clasped her hands 
and raised her eyes to the blackened heavens, behind 
2 * 


34 


Was it an Inheritance f 


which she knew there was a Great Power controlling 
all these elements; and confidence in a God that could 
wisely wield these material forces, begat confidence in 
Him, as the Father of all souls , and prayer unlocked 
the fountain of. her tears, which spilled the surplus 
from her overburdened heart. 

“ Oh, Father !” said she, “ was my love a will-o’- 
the-wisp, born in the morass of my heart, of stagnant 
pools that should have been healing streams, draining 
its soil of selfishness, till it should be a garden full of 
goodly fruit and fair to see ? Then, thanks for the 
lightning that smote me, and welcome the thunder’s 
roll that shook my frail habitation. I will henceforth 
remember that earth has many stagnant pools that 
need the light of the Son of God, and the opening of 
channels that shall convert them into life-bearing 
streams from which shall arise no storm-engendering 
miasms.” 


Or, Nannie Grant , 


35 


CHAPTER III. 

A WEDDING. 

E IGHT years had passed, and a girlish bride 
stood, surrounded by her maids, in the most 
delightful chamber in the new residence of Judge 
Wentworth, who had become the first man in wealth 
and political influence in his district, and in which his 
only daughter was the most beautiful maiden, and, 
though less than seventeen years of age, the reigning 
belle. 

“ Oh, how lovely! Is she not charming? Was 
ever any one more beautiful ?” were the exclamations 
on every hand. 

She stood in the centre of the room, wearing a 
robe of elegant white satin, whose rich folds lay in an 
ornamented trail full a yard upon the carpet. Her 
figure was small, almost child-like, and very neat and 
trim. Her dancing black eyes, and hair of the same 
hue, heightened, by contrast, the pearly lustre of her 
complexion, and her smiling, cherry lips revealed the 
most perfect teeth. Her hair was dressed high, with 
puffs and rolls, and on either temple clustered a knot 
of curls. Her corsage was low, and the rich old lace 
gathered about its top, and held by an invisible thread 
along its upper edge, seemed to caress the dimples in 


36 


Was it an Inheritance f 


her plump shoulders, for the fair departed ancestors it 
had graced on similar occasions in the long ago. 

Her cheeks had no need of rouge, foh nature’s own 
carmine glowed there, soft and rosy as the blush of 
morn. Bracelets of the most costly pearls clasped her 
shapely arms. Over all this beauty flowed the Mech- 
lin veil the bridegroom brought when he returned 
from his last voyage ; and her brow was crowned with 
the indispensable wreath of orange-flowers. 

Lizzie Rae, one of the chosen bridesmaids, walked 
slowly around her friend, deliberately surveying each 
article of her dress, and taking the exquisite veil in 
her cold fingers, liberated an entangled orange-bud 
from its folds; then whispering in the bride’s ear, 
“You are beautiful! God bless you always!” she 
kissed her cheek. 

Ah! little knew sweet Nannie Wentworth the 
heroism in that caress. Little knew she that one year 
ago William Grant was the plighted lover of this girl, 
and but for the weight of Judge Wentworth’s purse, 
she would to-day have been his wife. 

“Beauty’s bower,” said Lizzie, as she sauntered 
about the room. All nature was lovely, and the air 
that breathed softly in at the window came laden with 
the fragrance of flowers. A carpet of bright stripes 
lay upon the floor ; furniture of mahogany, black with 
age, stood against the deep-paneled wainscoting ; two 
lovely nosegays in antique vases, and delicate shells 
upon soft, exquisite mats, were upon the high mantle ; 
wreaths of jasmine surrounded the picture-frames 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


37 


and mirrors, and were festooned above the dainty- 
muslin curtains ; and numberless fancy articles, such 
as young girls usually surround themselves with, were 
on every hand. No elegant paintings or graceful 
statues or statuettes, with their refining and ennobling 
influences, were there; for these were the early 
days of the young republic, and the fine-arts were 
luxuries the heavily-taxed people could not yet 
afford. 

The view from the windows was charming. The 
hills in front were clad in the sober gray of their 
granite, relieved by the brilliant green of June foliage, 
and the fields and gardens were in holiday attire. At 
the right, the waters of the ocean lay panting beside 
the shore. 

The outlook was broken by morning-glory vines, 
intertwined with sweet-scented honeysuckles, which 
clambered over and around the window. What 
beautiful trumpets they bore ! — pure as the snow, and 
veined with the faintest blush ; purple, as delicately 
veined with pure white ; and violet, seamed also with 
white ; and that again with a line of pink tracery as 
dainty as the vein upon the hand of a fairy. 

Mrs. Wentworth entered with a quiet, constrained 
air, which, though usual with her, seemed unnatural. 
She smiled pleasantly, though her eyes were moist 
with tears. 

Her daughter was joyous and hopeful, seeing only 
God’s radiant bow of promise arching the long vista 
before her, down which she should walk on dewy 


38 


Was it an Inheritance f 


flowers, leaning on “ Willie’s ” arm, and plucking the 
delicious fruits that clustered on either hand. 

But the mother had long ago stood where she now 
did, and had seen that bow recede again and again, 
and finally melt away; had been wounded by the 
thorns hidden beneath the flowers, and torn by the 
brambles whose scanty fruit she had essayed to pluck. 

William Grant, though boasting neither pedigree, 
nor purse, nor expectations, was a respectable and 
promising youth, and the choice of Nannie’s heart ; 
but Mrs. Wentworth knew that this day marked an 
era in the lives of both the young people. Their 
mutual influence must materially change the character 
of both ; and she foresaw that her daughter’s would 
yield most. What had the future in store for them ? 
Long life, peace and plenty, or the reverse ? They 
loved each other. Would that continue? Would 
the years lead them hand in hand ? or would the fair 
young flower, now blooming before her, wither in 
early morning, or bend and pour out the fragrance of 
its early bloom over the blighted form of him who 
called its breath of sweetness forth ? 

Such queries filled that mother’s mind ; for, through 
all the sad hours of that day, before her had arisen 
the face of her early love — Captain Boss ; and Wil- 
liam Grant was, after the expiration of two weeks, to 
resume his occupation on the same treacherous element 
that had widowed her ; though only Mollie seemed to 
remember her past experiences. 

“ O mother !” said Nannie, hastening to embrace 


Or, Nannie Gh'ant. 


39 


her, “ I am not going to leave you ; so don’t look so 
sad. We shall always live near you. Willie has 
promised me. You try so hard to look cheerful, 
though I know you don’t feel so ; but I’m not going 
away from you ; and I love you better now than I 
did before I loved Willie so much.” 

u My little girl scarcely compliments her mother in 
supposing her so selfish in her affections,” said Mrs. 
Wentworth, gently folding her to her heart. “ I 
hope always to have you and Mollie near me,” and 
she extended her disengaged hand to her eldest 
daughter, who entered at that moment, and, as was 
her habit, patted her sister affectionately upon the 
cheek. “ Marriage,” she resumed, " appears to those 
who love each other to be the consummation of bliss ; 
but life is but a series of consummations. We strive, 
and succeed, or fail, as we think ; but, viewed aright, 
what we count failures are often our highest suc- 
cesses; and the consummation of each endeavor* but 
prepares us for a new one. I do not wish to sadden 
you, my dear, but I would warn you that life’s 
flowers are armed with thorns, and she who would 
pluck them must pluck with care; and that skill 
attained is far more valuable than the flowers, be- 
cause immortal ; and as I would have you return to 
the Master heavy-ladened with the fruits of grace, I 
would have you arm yourself with caution and 
courage that can defy the brambles. So i be of good 
courage and a strong heart,’ and forget not the 
Source from whence all true strength comes. But 


40 


Was it an Inheritance f 


I see that not all the young ladies are ready to go 
down.” 

“ Certainly ! certainly ! I should think not,” said 
Miss Monson, the village dressmaker and factotum ; 
and she flew from one young lady to another, adjust- 
ing a tucker here, a sash there, and a puff for a third. 

A rap was heard at the door, and a tall, dark-eyed 
youth stood before it, dressed in the height of fashion 
— long waistcoat, ruffled shirt, immense gold buckles 
glistening upon his knee-breeches, with polished 
shoes, and silk stockings well padded out. 

“ Aren’t you girls ready yet? We are all tired 
out with waiting on the other side of the hall, long 
ago. W-h-h-w ! whew! whew! Zounds! Oh! 
please excuse me, ladies, but — well, Nannie, you 
never looked so well before, and Fm afraid you 
never will again.” 

“ Oh, now, now, Ben "Wentworth, you didn’t come 
over here just on purpose to see your sister, did you ? 
Oh, no ! oh, no ! we understand,” said Miss Monson, 
waving him away with both her hands, and turning 
her face from him ; by which last movement she dis- 
covered that the minute-hand of the clock upon the 
centre of the mantle lacked just five minutes of an 
upright position, at which precise hour “the cere- 
mony was to be performed.” 

“ My son, just tell the gentlemen that the ladies 
are ready,” said Mrs. Wentworth, and kissing her 
daughter she descended to the parlor. 

“ Mollie Boss, I must say I never saw you look 


41 


Or, Nannie Grant. 

better dressed,” said Miss Monson ; “ but you are like 
an iceberg, while the other girls, who, to be sure, are 
younger than you, are all excitement. What ails 
you, girl f You’re perfectly frigid /” 

“ Am I ? I did not know I was,” said Mollie, 
smiling. “ Isn’t it just as well to have something 
cool in this warm room, where but one window is 
open to this delightful breeze? There, that will 
make it more comfortable,” throwing up the sash. 

The gentlemen made their appearance at this junc- 
ture, and William Grant took the hand of his bride, 
and four other young beaux took those of the four 
bridesmaids, and all passed down the broad stairs, 
through the spacious hall, and on to the commodious 
parlor, which was already well-filled with guests. 

The ceremony was conducted in good orthodox 
congregational style, and the occasion dignified by the 
presence of all the most distinguished people of the 
vicinity. The last prayer and remarks were at length 
concluded, and the solemn words, “ what God hath 
joined let no man put asunder,” were pronounced, 
when good old Parson Brownson raised his wrinkled 
hands and tremulous voice in a benediction upon all 
present, and “ especially the young persons who had 
just taken upon themselves the holy vows of wed- 
lock.” 

Congratulations ensued, the judge unbending his 
dignity to dispute the first kiss with the new-made 
husband, and consoling himself for its loss by giving 
his daughter a hearty hug. 


42 


Was it an Inheritance f 


Then followed a general “good time;” jokes, 
tricks and amusements of various kinds, and a sump- 
tuous dinner, served beneath the shade of the im- 
mense trees in the spacious lawn beside the house. 

We cannot enumerate one-half the good things 
that were provided to tempt the appetite or grace the 
feast. Nothing that the climate and season could 
produce, or wealth could purchase, was missing there ; 
and gayer, happier guests never surrounded the festal 
board. They sat long, feasting and chatting, till the 
sun sunk so low that he peeped slantwise beneath the 
sturdy branches that at first forbade him a glance. 

The viands removed, four huge, silver punch- 
bowls, with their steaming contents, were placed be- 
fore the guests ; and as many foaming with eggnog ; 
with numerous bottles of sherry, old port and vari- 
ous kinds of wine, of which the guests all partook in 
moderate freedom ; for, in those days, clergy and lay- 
men took “ the good creature of God ” as he listed. 

Sometimes it occurred, as at the present day, that 
some “weak-minded individual,” or it may have 
been occasionally one of parts, gave way to excess ; 
but this was comparatively a rare occurrence, and 
they at most but a foible. 

On this occasion, though the company was large, 
and great liberality was exhibited in the supply of 
drinks to suit all tastes — from tea to New England, 
rum, simon pure — poor old Joe Cone was the only 
person whose legs refused to do service ; and but few 
gave evidence that “ the spirits ” had disturbed their 


43 


Or, Nannie Grant . 

normal state; and these “ misfortunes ” were attributed 
to lack of caution in the admixture of varieties. The • 
hostess had not partaken of any drinks stronger than 
tea, till Dr. Willis expressed surprise that she did not 
take wine at least. 

“ A feeble woman like you,” said he, “ positively 
needs this ‘old port/ if not a stronger stimulant, 
especially under the excitements and fatigues of to- 
day. As a medical man, I beg you to take some.” 

Thus advised, she joined in the toasts to “the 
newly-wedded pair ;” “ the new government ;” “ the 
young sisterhood of States, who had so recently and 
gallantly won their independence ;” to “the health of 
the President of the United States ;” to “ the success 
of the judge at the next election ;” to “ the memories of 
old times, and the victories over the hardships of the 
early settlement of Connecticut.” To all these she 
sipped sparingly of the lighter beverages. 

The remainder of the day was spent in gayety — 
games and frolic of various kinds on the part of the 
young ; and in jokes and pleasant stories and remi- 
niscences by the older people — till the signal of sepa- 
ration was given by the tall clock in the hall, as it 
struck nine hesitating strokes. 

Soon the guests, having drank a parting toast to 
the good health of all, took their departure ; a few 
only, whose homes were too remote to be reached in 
seasonable hours that night, remained till the morning. 


44 


Was it an Inheritance f 


CHAPTER IV. 

GUESTS, UNWELCOME AND WELCOME. 

FTER the departure of her guests, Mrs. Went- 



i\ worth, being very weary, quietly withdrew to 
her own room in the rear of the back parlor, and her 
eldest daughter sat beside the couch on which she re- 
clined, while the family worshipped in the adjoining 
room, the door being ajar 

Mollie took her mother’s hand between both her 
own, and pressing its cool fingers to her cheek, held 
it thus during all the unusually long and fervent 
prayer of her step-father. He had just read the 
beautiful thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians, 
probably deeming sweet charity the lesson best suited 
to him who now held in keeping the happiness of the 
only being to whom the judge had ever given the 
affection that should always temper authority (to the 
exercise of which he was especially given), and, in- 
deed, that should be its sole occasion. He had found 
it hard that his only pet should love another better 
than himself (as he thought) ; and so the struggle be- 
tween self and reason had waxed sore as this day 
advanced ; and its hours, which had been a season of 
merriment and joy to his guests, had proved a season 
of higher education to him than he had ever known 


Or, Nannie Grant 


45 


before. And now, in prayer, he seemed to take his 
poverty of soul and present it at the very footstool of 
the All-merciful ; and as from that height he looked 
down upon his former self, he saw that hitherto he 
had despised the foundation and the top-stone of all 
the graces — the root and crown. When at length he 
pronounced the fervent amen, the old clock indicated 
that he had spoken with God a full half-hour. 

At the close of his prayer, Mollie heard a whisper : 
“ Like as a father pitieth — ” 

“ Can I do anything for you, mother ?” 

No reply came. She let go the hand. It fell like 
lead upon the counterpane. Ben passed the half-open 
door with a lamp, and its rays fell upon his mother’s 
face one instant. Mollie held her cheek just above 
the lips a moment, and felt no breath upon it ; then 
kissed them gently, and, stepping to the door, said, 
softly : “ I have something to tell you all ; but do not 
be alarmed. An angel has been here, whose name is 
Death ; and she has left us.” 

She entered the parlor, and signed to the judge to 
enter his wife’s apartment. She had long expected 
this event, yet the deathly pallor of her face defined 
the calamity more clearly than her words ; and all 
rushed to the open door. 

Nannie flew to her mother’s bedside, and, shower- 
ing caresses upon the unconscious clay, called fran- 
tically : “ Come back ! Come back to me again ! O 
mother ! mother ! you are not truly gone ! You can- 
not be dead! I cannot live without you! Oh, I 


46 


Was it an Inheritance f 


was so happy !” and she fell, fainting, into the arms 
of her husband. 

Ben raised the body to a sitting posture, and beat 
the chest and spine, in the vain hope of arousing the 
stagnant blood; but this, and other restoratives, were 
applied in vain. He laid it down at last, and with a 
deep groan left the room. 

The judge sat upon the bedside, his whole frame 
shaking violently, and his eyes fixed on those of his 
dead wife, which were still unclosed. 

“Dead? Dead? Gone forever! Poor heart! 
Starved to death ! Too late ! too late I prayed for 
love ! God forgive me ! I have killed you !” and 
he groaned audibly in anguish of soul. 

Mollie had sunk into the nearest chair, cold and 
still as marble ; but those groans awoke her to her 
habitual office of ministration. Laying her hand 
upon his shoulder, “We cannot stay now,” she said. 
“ Come ;” and she led him by the hand, like a child, 
to Nannie’s room, whither she had been borne in 
hysteria. 

“ Father ! O father !” the childish bride exclaimed, 
flinging her arms about his neck, and nestling in his 
bosom. “Is there no hope? Is she really gone? 
O Mollie ! and you haven’t a tear ! Didn’t you love 
mother? How can you be so calm? You act as 
if you didn’t care.” 

Mollie groped with her cold, bloodless hands for 
the deep window she was too faint and blind to see, 
and sat upon its deep sill till strength and sight re- 


Or, Nannie Gh'ant. 


47 


turned; but did not speak. The caresses bestowed 
by the judge upon his “ poor crushed flower ” added 
to her sense of bereavement; for had she not also 
lost a mother? With tottering step she at length 
descended to the room where kindly hands were pre- 
paring for the tomb all that was left of the only 
parent she had ever known, and there assisted in 
various ways. She even dressed the silken tresses 
with her own hand, and recalled the tender words 
of consolation and advice she had so often heard 
from that dear mother’s lips, while arranging those 
same soft threads around that brow, then racked by 
pain, but henceforth forever at rest. 

When all was done, the form was placed upon a 
board, laid upon two chairs, and covered with a white 
spread, making it look ghastly as possible ; the win- 
dow was lowered to a few inches, and a lamp placed 
upon the table, and all retired to their apartments, 
save a few who kept watch. 

Wearied nature at last beckoned sleep, which had 
been long kept aloof, his soft wings chilled by the 
shadow of death that rested on that household ; and, 
receiving him, Nannie and her father forgot the 
gloom. 

“Hark! I’m sure I heard a noise!” exclaimed 
Sally Baker, who was one of “ the watchers,” though 
she had been hard at work in the kitchen all day. 

“Oh, you foolish thing!” said Susan Watkins. 
“ It was nothing at all but the wind ” 

“No, it wasn’t,” persisted Sally. “It sounded 


48 Was it an Inheritance f 

more like a groan. Now ! Didn’t you hear it then, 
Bell Spencer ?” 

“Hear what?” opening her big blue eyes in a 
vacant stare, that was more allied to dreamland 
than the actual world. 

“ Why, that noise ! I thought I heard a crackin’ 
in the hall right behind me a leetle while ago, but I 
didn’t say nothin’ then; but jist neow I heard a deep 
sound, some’at like a groan.” 

“ Oh, shaw ! Sally, you’re nervous.” 

il Narvous ! Hitch me a bein’ narvous , and you’ll 
hitch a weasel asleep ! I’m no granddame, I assure 
you.” 

“ Now I do hope there ain’t going to be any signs 
or spirits here to-night ! If there is, I shall go stark 
mad, I’m sure,” said Susan, her face white as death. 

A muffled groan was her answer, and Sally raised 
both her scrawny hands, and, with eyes and mouth 
agap, whispered : “ Hark !” 

Not a sound followed but the ticking of the clock, 
and the sighing of the wind in the elms. 

“ Let’s go to Mollie’s room. I declare, I’m afraid 
to stay in this house,” said Susan. 

“ That noise came from the bed-room in thar, as 1 
live !” said Sally, with her long, boney arm stretched 
to its utmost, and her skinny finger pointing toward 
the chamber of death ; “ an’ we ort tu go in an’ see 
what’s wrong.” 

“ Oh, mercy !” “ For heaven’s sake !” “ I couldn’t 
do it to save the world !” and kindred ejaculations, 


Or , Nannie Grant. 


49 


followed. Tom Parker didn’t say a word, but looked 
as if about to faint. Kemembered stories of sudden 
death, and as sudden resurrection, wrought on their 
imaginations, till they momently expected to see the 
door swing back upon its hinges, and the sheeted 
form walk forth. 

“ Now I tell you ichat ,” said Sally, “ she may be 
cornin’ back tu life agin ; an’ I ain’t a-goin’ tu set 
here an’ be so afeared uv thet Christian saint } thet 
never hurt nobody, as tu let her go clean away tu 
glory till I’m sartin the Lord wants her, jest a’cause 
I’m sich a coward that I darsn’t help her back tu life 
agin. We was alius good friends, Miss W entworth 
an’ me was, an’ I ain’t afeard o’ her sperrit’s cornin’ 
back to hurt or skeer me.” 

She started towards the door, but her companions 
caught her. 

“ You won’t know what to do if she is coming tu. 
Let’s call Mollie.” 

“ Fur shame ! fur shame ! every one on ye ! Go 
fur Mollie , when her heart’s breakin’ neow, all tu make 
her face what you’re afeard on !” and she shook them 
off indignantly, for now a strange, half-gurgling 
sound, like a groan broken into fragments, which 
each revealed an unutterable agony — as fragments of 
shattered glass sometimes reveal the otherwise invisi- 
ble components of gray, cold light — issued from the 
chamber of death. 

While the other watchers huddled in the farthest 
corner, Sally sprang into the room just in time to 
3 


50 


Was it an Inheritance f 


catch Mollie as she fell backward from her knees be- 
side her mother’s stiffened corpse. 

Scarcely less rigid than her mother, she lay during 
the remaining hours of that night. But when morn- 
ing looked over the hill-tops, and laid his finger on 
the eye-lids of the suffering girl, the death-like swoon 
fled away, and she awoke again to life — to the strug- 
gles and endeavors which are the precursors and 
antecedents of all true development. She left her 
chamber to attend the funeral services weak in body, 
but her soul was vigorous in a new life. 

The days of her affliction were over, the depths of 
her great anguish passed, and from the door of the 
sepulcher, where her affections had been secluded, the 
stone had been rolled away, and they came forth, 
having cast aside the grave-clothes that encumbered 
them, and worked wonders among the children of 
men ; appearing alike to the doubting and the believ- 
ing, though the doors of their hearts were all shut, 
and saying, “ Peace be unto you or standing beside 
the storm-tossed sea, where weary toilers spend their 
night in fruitless endeavors, calmly said, “ Cast ye the 
net upon the other side, which is the Lord’s.” 

Her subsequent life was an exhibition of the best 
affections of a human soul crucified, yet resurrected 
to a spiritualized life ; a living proof that blessing is 
bliss, that giving is receiving bliss, and God and love 
synonymous. 

The house that had so recently been the scene of 
feasting and merriment, became one of feasting and 


Or, Nannie Gi'ant. 


51 


mourning, as was the custom of the time. Viands 
and delicacies remaining from the wedding feast were 
laid upon the long dining-table in the rear of the 
wide hall ; the sideboard glistened with well-filled 
tankards, brittania and silver goblets, and punch- 
bowls ; and each guest was expected to partake of the 
hospitalities of the occasion without ceremony. Yet 
Judge Wentworth’s mansion was by no means a scene 
of excess. 

During more than eight years, Mrs. Wentworth 
had stood face to face with death ; but her beautiful 
Christian faith had transformed him from a foe to a 
friendly guide to conduct her to her Father’s home. 

An annoying and persistent illness had preceded 
the birth of Nannie, for which her physician had pre- 
scribed the daily use of alcoholic stimulants. The 
remedy was distasteful, but urgently insisted upon, 
and always at hand ; for the judge would have thought 
no meal complete without such liquors in some form, 
and as to spending a winter evening without his egg- 
nog or milk-punch, that would have been to him 
poverty or parsimony. 

Health never returned to his wife, and during 
several years she respected her physician’s unvarying 
prescription, and “ took a little wine ” for her “ often 
infirmity.” At last, convinced that her heart had 
become diseased, and that these stimulants aggravated 
the difficulty, she discontinued the practice, notwith- 
standing the protests of her physicians and friends ; 
and thus, though the disease was beyond cure, her 


52 


Was it an Inheritance f 


life was prolonged till Nannie’s seventeenth year, and 
then cut off through the prescription of an ignorant 
or thoughtless doctor. 

Time, though not always the healer, is yet the sub- 
duer of our griefs, thanks to the Power that adjusts 
the .ZEolean strings within each breast, and holds 
alike the leashes of the zephyrs and the storms, that 
breathe or roar upon them as they pass. 

Nannie’s grief for the death of her mother sub- 
sided from violent paroxysms to mild exacerbations ; 
and eventually the remembrance of the dead mother 
became to her family a rich perfume — an incense that 
vivified and sanctified all good aspirations. 

William Grant sailed, as he had intended, two 
weeks after his marriage, and his bride was at first 
almost inconsolable under her double loss. But 
family and friends vied with each other in consoling 
her, and succeeded admirably. 

The year flew by on rapid wings, and at its com- 
pletion Nannie confidently expected to welcome her 
rover again, and would have still more hastened the 
later months, that he might share with her the rap- 
tures she enjoyed with the wee Willie who had come 
to cheer her waiting, and in whose existance her own 
and her husband’s would henceforth be wedded in 
indissoluble ties. 

But he wrote, “ I have such brilliant prospects 
for the next six months that I think I may not be 
obliged to sail again, if I remain now. So you had 
better buy ‘ the Smith farm ’ at once. I have the 


Or, Nannie Grant 


53 


money for that, but you must wait for repairs till we 
are moved, when they shall be as you like.” 

So, with mingled smiles and tears, the farm lying 
between the Wentworth lands and the village, was 
purchased, and the judge commenced reconstructing 
the house at once ; the same which, with additions 
and a subsequent reconstruction, became the elegant 
mansion where we first made the acquaintance of our 
hero and heroine. It was to be a grand surprise for 
William Grant to find his home and family together 
and waiting, and the pleasant secret, and the execu- 
tion and arrangement of her plans, (in all which she 
succeeded admirably,) proved a valuable pastime to 
Nannie. 

The eve of Thanksgiving day was cold and boister- 
ous. A storm of sleet was driving down the streets 
and over the hills. Mrs. Grant had not mentioned 
her husband all day, though she had long ago settled 
it that he would return for that anniversary. But as 
the wind howled past, her heart was full of anxiety. 
She thought of her mother’s early loss, as she had 
never done before. “What if his ship was strug- 
gling to round the cape, or enter the harbor? 
What if he were wrecked almost in sight of 
home ?” 

Yet she would not despair, but sent a servant to 
build warm fires in the new home, as she had before 
purposed to do ; and early in the evening, as the time 
for the arrival of the Boston stage drew near, insisted 
on going, accompanied only by her infant “ Willie,” 


54 


Was it an Inheritance f 


to take possession of it ; and then sent the sleigh on 
to the village inn. 

“John,” she said, “you will wait there till the 
stage comes, but do not, by any means, explain to 
William why you stop here. He will be there, I 
know he will,” and she laughed and tossed her jetty 
ringlets in defiance of all forebodings. 

It was very dark and stormy, and nearly eight 
o’clock, when she heard John bawl at the gate, 
“Whoa! Don’t you know where to stop, Dobbin?” 

Her heart beat high ; and now that her husband 
might be very near, she felt a girlish shyness, and 
trembled, she scarcely knew whether with joy or 
apprehension of disappointment. With her babe 
in her arms she opened the door. A flood of light 
from the huge wood-fire blazed out upon the black- 
ness. 

“ I reckon I’d best bring Mollie down,” shouted 
John. 

Nannie gazed out into the darkness, but John was 
already gone, and no one to be seen. A flood of tears 
gushed from her eyes, and the babe looked wonder- 
ingly in her face, and patted her cheek with his dim- 
pled hand, lisping over and over the words she had 
taught him, and which had never before failed to 
awaken her smile — “ Pappy, turn. Pappy turn.” 

She closed the door, and the latch was just upon the 
catch, when a rap was heard on the outside. 

Coward though she usually was, the door was 
opened instantly ; and there stood a muffled figure, 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


55 


with the cape of his “ great coat” blown over his 
face, and she heard a voice mutter, “ What did John 
mean ? There is nothing familiar here.” 

The next moment the cape was thrown back, and, 
sure enough, there stood William Grant, and our 
heroine’s next breath was a hysterical sob, in the 
strong arms that folded her and the boy close to the 
breast of the returned sailor. 

The trio enjoyed the meeting so well that we will 
not intrude. Nannie’s device for surprising her hus- 
band was a complete success, though she had antici- 
pated the one he had intended for her in his return. 

After partaking of the nice hot supper which she 
had in waiting upon the table, straight in front of the 
cheerful, blazing hearth, they rambled from room to 
room to investigate and admire their own beautiful 
home; the happy father carrying and tossing his 
“ wonderful boy,” who was well wrapped in shawls — 
for no furnaces then warmed all parts of the houses 
as in these days — and what with the tossing and fond- 
ling, and admiration of his beauty and brightness, 
the motherly hands were busy with keeping the 
wrappings in place. 

“ Ah, he knows his father loves him, doesn’t he ? 
and so isn’t a bit afraid,” said William, hugging him 
to his heart. 

Of course the baby crowed and cooed in confirma- 
tion of it all. 

“ Now, William,” said Mrs. Grant, when they had 
returned to the fire, “we are to have the nicest 


56 


Was it an Inheritance f 


party here to-morrow that ever was in this township, 
(you know you are only my guest yet,) a house-warm- 
ing, a welcome to you, a thanksgiving and a wedding , 
all in one.” 

“ A wedding f But who is to be married ?” 

“ Who ought it to be but our own dear Mollie, the 
dearest and best girl in the world?” rejoined Nannie. 

“Except you, Nannie, dear. I'm not willing to 
hear any one called better than my little wife ;” and 
he trotted her upon his knee where he had seated her. 
“ There isn’t much of her, but then she’s the quint- 
essence of goodness, and that makes it up.” 

But we must not delay to narrate the many plea- 
sant things said and done on this joyful occasion, or 
how the judge, and Ben, and Mollie, and even Sally 
Baker came down that evening, regardless of the 
storm, to welcome the returned sailor • nor even how 
pleasantly the party and wedding passed off on the 
succeeding day. The plan of celebrating the latter 
at “ the new house ” if William returned, originated 
with Nannie, and we need scarcely mention that it 
was most agreeable to Mollie, though perhaps not less 
so to Dr. Phelps, whose young and lovely wife, 
blooming with apparent health, had been one of the 
guests at Nannie’s marriage ; and in one week there- 
after was laid near Mrs. Wentworth in the village 
churchyard. 

The wise heads of the village said, “ The doctor is 
the best catch in town, and it’s all right for Mollie 
Ross to have him.” 


Or , Nannie Grant 


57 


It was a “ real love match ” at least, though the 
passion was not new to either party ; for natures that 
grow , as well as develop, are limited to no period in 
which to find their counterpart. 

Let us leave our friends here, and note some 
incidents which occurred three years subsequently. 

The tocsin of war had sounded, and the young 
men were enrolling as volunteers for the war of 1812. 
Ben caught the enthusiasm, and enlisted ; and even 
William Grant felt a touch of the prevailing mania, 
though a wife and two “ wee ” boys now tugged at 
his affections. 

Judge Wentworth heard of it, and made good speed 
to his daughter’s house. 

“ I gave my daughter to you to protect , not to 
abandon” said he to his son-in-law; “to love and 
cherish, not to forsake and break her heart. All that 
I possess stands between you and a draft, since she 
has seen fit to honor with her affections one who, it 
seems, cares less for her than her old father does. If 
you enlist now, mark you , sir , you will find it harder 
to ‘ claim your bride ’ on your return, than it was to 
get her from the old man in the first place ; which 
you never could have done but because I thought it 
for her happiness. Ben may go if he likes ; he has 
no family to leave. If you do go to this Indian war, 
you shall never, never take Nannie from me again.” 
His face was white with anger, and he struck his 
cane upon the floor in rage. 

3 * 


58 


Was it an Inheritance f 


William Grant did not enlist ; though, to one of 
his disposition, yielding was a sore trial. 

The neighbors said, “ He knows which side his bread 
is buttered on.” 

Manifestly he sustained no loss, in after years, by 
his acquiescence. 

The memory of the great agony through which 
our nation has recently passed, has so strongly im- 
pressed each reader, that we need but allude to 
the bereavements, the alarms, the hardships and de- 
moralizations of war. It has ever brought to the 
domestic circle bitter woes and heart-rending suspense ; 
and with no part in its advent, non-voters suffer no 
inferior share of the terrors of this dreadful scourge. 
Yet wives and mothers are told “ when their sex can 
take the field in person, then, and not till then, can 
they claim a voice in choosing peace or war.” 

The gold the rich man pays for his “ substitute ” 
does not disfranchise him ; but the anguish through 
which alone a man is born into the world — the hours 
of midnight watching, and the years of care, the de- 
privations and the gloom of the robbed hearth-stone — 
these are rewarded by the State by such rights as are 
accorded to criminals, to idiots and the insane. These 
services, without which the State would lack men to 
enroll, are accounted lighter than gold. Then go 
fight your battles with that yellow dust, and leave 
our sons alone ! 

But your “ draft can reach beyond the rich man’s 
coffers, even to his person ?” 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


59 


It could not reach him had he had no mother ; and 
while she lives, her interest in him is not second to 
his own. What is gold, when it ceases to represent 
some measure of human happiness ? In the mad race 
of life, the pursuit of gold blinds men to the true 
value it only represents . 

Government exists for the promotion of the happi- 
ness of the people ; yet in their headlong pursuit of its 
maintenance , a cross-eyed vision, made such by the 
proximity of a false glitter, leads men trampling on 
the holiest affections. Our Government claims to 
represent the interests of the people, yet leads the war- 
like element to the polls , and binds what men call 
“ the peaceful and civilizing influence,” to dumb sub- 
mission. Verily the world still waits for Christianity 
to lead us from the confines of barbarism. 

The war of 1812 brought no such general, almost 
universal bereavment — no such wholesale slaughter 
as that of 1861 to *68 ; yet it contained one dreadful 
ingredient which entered but feebly into the cup of 
bitterness we drank in “ the war of the rebellion.” 

This was the conflict with the American Indians, 
leagued with, or employed by the British. To the 
portion of the army employed against them, Ben 
attached himself. His history is thus briefly con- 
cluded. Fighting all day and night in the woods, 
near Plattsburgh, knee-deep in mud, and without 
food ; when the battle was ended, he crawled beside a 
log for rest, was attacked by a savage, stunned, scalped, 
and bleeding freely, was left to die. His comrades 


CO 


Was it an Inheritance ? 


found him weltering in gore, and able just to whisper, 
“ It is the work of savages to kill, of Christians to 
heal and save. O Christ ! save me — a savage” 

And now, as we have arrived at a period when the 
events in the history of our friends are not especially 
pertinent to our design, we will pass on to a time 
shortly after that at which our narrative commenced 


Or } Nannie Grant. 


61 


CHAPTER V. 

PERVERTING LIFE, AND WINGING FROM LIFE. 



'HO A ! whoa ! Steady, boy ! steady ! None 


of your capers now ! Needn’t shake your 


head so. A little more string will do you good. No 
you don’t; no you don’t. You’re not going to dash 
me against the curbstone ! Whoa ! whoa ! Are you 
cross-eyed, boy ? Can’t you see a straight road be- 
fore you ? I’m ashamed of you, staggering from one 
side of the street to the other ! Whoa ! whoa ! Now 
stop if you can’t travel better than that !” and giving 
the reins a tremendous jerk, and then sawing the bits 
through the poor animal’s mouth, George Grant sat 
his beautiful gray steed upon his haunches. 

Our young friend was seated in a new and elegant 
sulky, and the horse he drove was a superb creature, 
with dappled coat, arched neck and handsome head. 
He was the property and pet of his driver, whose 
boast had often been that the whip attached to the 
dash-board had never yet been used. 

The flesh of the spirited animal, which had never 
before felt a lash, quivered from head to hoof, as 
George now gave it several smart cuts ; and turning 
to the right, with one tremendous bound, the enraged 
creature upset the vehicle, broke the thills and dashed 


62 


Was it an Inheritance ? 


up the street, the dangling fragments of the carriage 
adding terror to his fright and wings to his speed. 

On he rushed, through the village, up the long, 
rising grade that led out among the surrounding 
farms, up the hills, and down with the speed of the 
wind, until his strength failed on a long ascent, and 
he fell. 

When the vehicle was upset, the man was thrown 
heavily to the ground. A crowd soon surrounded 
him, and he was tenderly conveyed to his home. 
Alarm gave rumor an exaggerated account to report. 

Dr. Phelps was summoned, and found that a rib 
was broken. The young man appeared much excited, 
and talked incoherently, intermingling oaths, ob- 
scenity and curses upon the stupidity of his horse, 
and of the friends who were so kindly caring for 
him. His eyes were watery and dull, and then wild 
and glassy. No wonder that anxious friends feared 
his brain had been injured. 

The doctor watched his patient narrowly, but said 
little, except that he would be about in a few days. 

“ Then you do not think his head is injured ?” said 
Mrs. Grant. “ Tell me truly, brother.” 

“ His head is as well, in all respects, as it was before 
the sulky was upset.” 

“ Then what makes him talk so ? He surely must 
be beside himself from some cause.” 

“ Oh, the excitement was great, of course ; but if 
we can get him to sleep, he will get over that. Let 
Joe sit by him, and everybody else leave the room, 


Or, Nannie Grant . 63 

and when he has had a good long nap you will find 
Pm right.” 

The doctor went out into the deepening twilight, 
and walked slowly toward home. Entering his gate, 
he heard voices from the arbor in the lower part of 
the garden. His wife and daughter were there en- 
joying the moonlight and sea-breeze, for it was mid- 
summer. He paced the soft sward in front of the 
door, with arms folded across his back, head bent, 
and eyes upon the ground. 

“ What a revelation! Oaths, obscenity and in- 
toxication ! His words leave no doubt of familiarity 
with scenes of vice. And he not yet twenty-three 
years of age! What can be done? How came all 
this about ? Where is the root of the evil ? How 
shall Henry be saved from contamination by his 
cousin? How save Joe and Seth? What can be 
done to save George f Will my brother-in-law forego 
his wine for his son’s sake ? or content himself with 
preaching self-control and moderation ? Will Nannie 
learn the truth t Ought she to know it? What will 
she do — talk to, and pray for him, and place the wine 
upon the table before him as usual ? Alas ! alas !” 
thought the doctor, “ there is little chance for him ! 
Ruth has great power over him. Could she not 
save him? But they are both young, and he so 
vile !” 

The father revolted at the thought. 

“ But darkhess and uncleanness would reign 
supreme, did light and purity, through fear of con- 


64 


Was it an Inheritance? 


tamination, refuse to obtrude upon them,” thought 
the philanthropist ; “ and virtue loses half its value 
when it fails of healing. As her own first-cousin, 
duty bids, and society will allow her to do for him 
what she otherwise could not do. At all events, he 
is not to Ruth’s taste, and she is very sagacious.” 
These were the doctor’s thoughts and conclusions. 

“Isn’t this breeze delightful? And the garden 
looks really fine by the light of this full-moon ! How 
light it is ! I can read quite easily.” 

It was the voice of his daughter ; and the doctor 
stood listening while she read : “ ‘ The Lord shall be 
unto thee an everlasting light, and thy God thy 
glory.’ ‘The Lord preserveth all them that love 
Him.’ ‘God commendeth His love toward us, in 
that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us.’ 
‘ Be not afraid, only believe.’ ‘ Lord, be Thou my 
helper.’ ” 

“ Wife ! Daughter ! Come this way, please, and 
we will sit on the piazza. You will spoil your eyes 
reading there, my child.” 

When they approached, he took Ruth’s hand, and 
looking earnestly into her face, said : “ My little girl, 
if your heart and conscience second mine, I think I 
have a good work for you to do.” 

“ I hope they will. I am ready. What is it ?” 

They seated themselves upon the old-fashioned 
settle that had occupied a position on the piazza since 
long before Ruth’s earliest recollections ; and the story 
of George’-s misadventure, his present condition, and 


Or, Nannie Grant 


65 


his uncle’s plans for his reformation, were narrated. 
Ruth was not sanguine of success. Since the Thanks- 
giving dinner, when he returned to the dining-room 
to drink his glass of wine clandestinely, she had 
quietly endeavored to strengthen the weak points in 
his character, and, it seemed, had failed. 

<( To reason with him to any effect, one must first 
win his confidence and affection,” said the doctor; 
“ and, really, the children of William and Nannie do 
not seem to reason at all ; at least concerning matters 
of habit ; and they are full of habits. Nannie’s im- 
pulsiveness (though her impulses are generally good) 
is coupled with William’s dogged obstinacy in their 
children — or most of them ; so the feelings decide what 
stand shall be taken, and then they seem bound to 
their first choice.” 

“ Where are the lamps ? Not a light in the house! 
Who are they that chose darkness rather than 
light?” 

It was Henry’s voice in the front hall, and Ruth 
went to meet him. 

“ Isn’t it fearful, Sis, to think what a narrow escape 
George had? Have you heard about it?” 

“ Yes. Father has just told us. But the cause 
seems to me to be much the worst.” 

Henry laughed. “ Well, now! if that don’t beat 
all ! I must tell George of that ; it’s too good to 
keep! That’s rich, I declare ! Ha! ha! Not very 
complimentary to him , I’m sure; though perhaps he 
will like you all the better for it, for he sets so much 


66 


Was it an Inheritance f 


by that gray. But, Rue, that’s horse-worship with 
a vengeance !” 

Placing the lamp she had been lighting upon the 
table, and confronting him, she asked : 

“ What do you mean, brother? What do you 
think caused the accident ?” 

“ Some disease that attacked the horse, to be sure. 
George says it staggered from one side of the street 
to the other, and he was afraid the people would think 
he was drunk ; so he lost his temper and whipped the 
animal. Well, he ran away, and things were smashed 
up generally, George and all ?” 

“ Has the horse been caught ?” 

“ Yes. He strung the sulky to splinters, and ran 
till he dropped down on Jones’s hill. Bob Jones 
found him there, u the scariest creeter he ever seen ,” I 
suppose. He says the horse is ruined. He rubbed 
him and doctored him up (you know he is a horse- 
doctor), and then he mounted his own bay and led 
him down. I saw him just now, and told him what 
George said about his staggering ; and he seemed to 
be kind o’ studying over it, and all the answer he 
made was, that he guessed it was ‘ a new ailin’ fur a 
hoss tu hev, and he must sarch into it.’ ” 

“ Henry, it is ‘ a new disease for a horse to have,’ 
and I fear that too many will interest themselves in 
investigations of the case. Do you know, father says 
George was actually drunk ! He thought his horse 
reeled, and must be cross-eyed, when it was his own 
eyes that were wrong. The horse was all right. He 


67 


Or, Nannie Grant 

says George is now raving, and saying the most fearful 
thing; and it is all from drink. Mr. Jones knew or 
suspected rightly enough what was the matter, you 
may be sure. Did you see him ?” 

Henry raised his eyes from the floor, where they 
had been fixed since the word “ drunk ” fell upon his 
ears, and asked, “ Who ? George? No. Sarah said 
that father’s directions were that no one should see 
him to-night. Do aunt and the girls know how 
it is ?” 

“ I don’t know. They will keep that secret as long 
as possible.” 

Meanwhile the older people retired to their room. 

“ I am just about despairing for him,” said Mrs. 
Phelps, “ yet when I put myself in my poor sister’s 
place, my hopes take counsel mainly of my desires, 
and I think we must leave nothing untried. It is a 
very different case from that of Bill Watkins. The 
boys deceived him by mixing liquors on purpose to get 
him drunk ; but George has been forming the taste 
all his life ; and his father, and sometimes his mother, 
I’m afraid, have set the example for years. I haven’t 
much hope.” 

“ That is true, yet not the worst of it. Alcoholic 
liquors stimulate the passions, and weaken the reason 
and will, for the time being ; and often repeated, these 
conditions become habits of the system , and are even 
entailed on offspring. George’s drinking has but 
aggravated constitutional conditions. Let’s see. This 
is the year 1834. It was in 1811, that William 


63 


Was it an Inheritance f 


began to import his own wines and procured a quan- 
tity in anticipation of the war, and we remember how 
freely they drank them, during the two following 
years especially.” 

“ Henry,” said Ruth, “ let us take a stroll down 
the garden,” and she put her arm in his and drew him 
as she listed. 

“ I want to talk,” said she, when they had fairly 
entered the broad, graveled path. 

“ But I am sleepy, and you are tired,” said Henry. 
“ 1 will sit down upon your knee, when you are seated 
in the arm-chair under the great elm.” 

“ Ah ! It is all arranged, it seems.” 

“Yes, now, down ! ” and she seated him, notwith- 
standing his half-feigned reluctance, and took her own 
position as she had proposed. 

Oh, blest the brother, and happy the sister, between 
whose souls such love and confidence exist ! He be- 
comes to her a tower of strength, and her influence is 
a wall of safety around about his path. 

“ I am not sleepy/' said Ruth, “ and my tongue is 
not tired.” 

“ Of course not,” said her brother. 

“ And I will manage to keep your eyes and ears 
open,” she added, without noticing the interruption. 
“ If my tongue cannot do it, I will just do in this 
way,” giving first one ear and then the other a gentle 
tweak. 

“ There ! there ! I'm wide awake now. Please 
proceed with the tongue music ; ” and capturing both 


Or, Nannie Ch'ant. 


69 


her hands, he trotted her like a child, saying, “ Trot, 
trot to Boston, to buy a loaf of bread.” 

“ But the mind is more important than the body, 
I will feed that first, if you please. You are not 
fasting.” 

“ Ah ! some wise discourse, I suppose.” 

“ Yes, I want to talk to you about George. Pa 
says he has been keeping the very worst of company, 
male and female ; and I don’t want my brother to 
keep his. I know it will be difficult to avoid it, as 
you must meet him in our house, and his father’s 
some times, but don’t be intimate, you under- 
stand.” 

“ Yes, Ruth, I do understand you ; and I can tell 
you freely, I don’t want to be intimate. If he hadn’t 
’a been my cousin , I’d ’a cut him long ago.” 

“ That makes me feel better here,” laying her hand 
upon her heart. “Not that I thought you would 
choose such an associate as I fear he would be, if you 
knew it, but I feared you would think father mis- 
taken. You and George have been very intimate.” 

“ And that very intimacy was its own destroyer. 
Ruth, your hairs would stand on end if you were 
to hear the stories of his own depravity, tha t that boy 
has told me, and laughed at them ; and at me too 
because I was horrified at them.” 

“Where in the world did he pick up such things?” 

“ Why, you know those city chaps that came here 
that summer, gunning and rusticating? Well, you 
remember George got very intimate with them, and 


70 


Was it an Inheritance f 


Uncle Will was just foolish enough to let him accept 
their invitation to visit them the next winter. 

“ Sis, you could never bear to look George in the 
face again if you could know the account of his 
goings-on in New York, which he gave me. That’s 
what ‘ broke ’ for us. I told him just what I thought 
about it, and when he laughed at me in the sneering 
way he can, I told him that as he was my cousin, I 
should treat him civilly, and feel an interest in his 
welfare ; but if he was not so nearly related to me, I 
should never speak to him again, for I did not want 
such associates.” 

Ruth did not speak for some moments, but leaned 
down and kissed her brother’s forehead. At length 
she asked, “ how did he take that ?” 

“ He did not half believe me. He does not know 
what real staunch principle is” 

“ Henry, I have been warning you against his so- 
ciety, and now I know you will be shocked when I 
tell you that I am to court it.” 

“ What for.” 

“ For his reformation.” 

“ And whose notion is it?’ 

“ Father’s.” 

“ Father’s? I thought you had your information 
from him.” 

“ Yes, so I did, and it is all to reform our cousin.” 

“ It’s too much of a sacrifice. Ruth, it makes me 
shudder to think of it.” 

“ He will not harm me, for I shall have Ruth 


Or, Nannie Gh'ant. 


71 


Phelps, and the Lord to protect me ; and who else 
can save him. If he is saved at all, some woman 
must do it. One not a relative could scarcely aid him 
as I mean to do, because he might be more successful 
in winning her love, than she in winning him to paths 
of virtue; or, should his affections become really 
awakened, and the passion was not returned, it might 
become the occasion of his plunging into even greater 
excesses. But every one knows our families have 
been very intimate, and we think it wicked for cousins 
to marry ; so no danger of that kind threatens, and 
people won’t talk.” 

“ And you think women are the proper persons to 
reform such men?” 

“ Perhaps not always as principals, but usually ; 
yet I should not dare to undertake George’s case if 
we were not cousins. His mother and sisters should 
be his best helpers, but Lucy and auntie are neither 
of them strong and constant enough, and Sarah is too 
young.” 

“Do you expect to succeed?” 

“I expect to, if I can.” 

“But do you expect you can?” 

“I don’t know Hen. There’s a troublesome falter- 
ing at the heart, and I have no courage, except, as I 
keep saying, ‘The Lord is my helper.’ ‘Be of good 
courage, and He shall strengthen thy hands.’” 

If mothers and sisters did but know how to help 
these boys ! If, instead of the bitter taunt or cutting 
sarcasm, or on the other hand, the easy code of morals 


72 


Was it an Inher itance f 


for men, and the careless jest ; that excuse, as the 
“sowing of wild-oats,” the foible that unchecked, 
becomes a deep pit to receive the young soul ; the soft 
caress of a gentle mother or sister is a familiar thing, 
that by divine inspiration touches what seems the 
rough and sterile rock in the developing boy, that 
rock becomes a Horeb ; and instead of the miry pit, 
a well is found, brimful of blessing. 

After midnight, George became irritable and un- 
easy; and though Joe reminded him of the necessity 
of being quiet, he insisted upon a change of position. 

“Blast you,” said he, “don’t you suppose I am re- 
minded of that often enough by this cursed side of 
mine. Confound it ! This pain in my head is awful. 
It seems as if my hair was all being pulled out by 
the roots. I wish I had a drink of brandy. Joe get 
me some.” 

Joe shook his head. 

“Why not?” (In an excited manner.) 

“ That’s just what the doctor said you must not 
have.” 

“The doctor did! What is that to him?” 

“He says it will throw you into a fever — which 
would be very bad for you.” 

“A fever? I should think I had a fever now — 
taking his confounded stuff! The doctor! What doc- 
tor, I’d like to know? Old Phelps, Pll warrant!” 

“Why, George, you must be crazy. You know 
uncle is the best physician for miles around, and as 
kind as kind can be.” 


73 


Or, Nannie Grant 

“The darned old tee-totaler! He'd rather I'd die 
for the want of a drop of wine, than give in one of 
his pet nofibns about ‘alcohol as a poison.' ‘Wine 
is a mocker?' I think he is an old mocker; and I 
want some wine. At least, you can give me wine ; it 
was brandy I mustn't have. Did he say I shouldn't 
have wine ?" 

“ He must not take a drop of any kind of alcoholic 
liquors, or fever will set in," were just the words I 
heard him say to mother. 

“Hang the fever! Oh! Joe you can give me some 
wine; there's a good boy. You don't know how 
much I want it, and it'll strengthen me. I need 
strength, for I feel as if I had been sick a month. 

“Any kind of liquor, any kind of liquor! That 8 
the word. Liquor — ‘a fluid substance; liquor is a 
word of general signification, extending to water, 
milk, blood, sap, juice, &c.' (So I suppose I'm to 
take none of these things), but its most common ap- 
plication is to spirituous fluids, whether distilled or 
fermented — to decoctions, solutions, tinctures. Yes, 
yes, I think Dr. Phelps can't get that big pill down 
my throat. Decoctions, solutions, tinctures — what's 
that stuff in the bottle?" 

“ That is a wash for your side, when it pains ; you 
know it is bruised." 

“I should think I know. Yes, that is a tinc- 
ture to be taken externally. And what's in the vial 
there?" 

“Medicine to be given in drops." 

4 


74 


Was it an Inheritance ? 


“ Yes. That looks mighty like a decoction, or more 
likely, a ‘tincture.’” And what’s in those papers?” 

“ Those are powders.” 

“ Yes, and you give them to me in a spoon, in mo- 
lasses or water, or some such thing, don’t you?” 

“To be sure, and its just about time you took one 
now.” 

“Took one? I guess not. That looks mighty like 
breaking the doctor’s orders, taking a solution, and 
that is a liquor. ‘ No, sir,’ said he, as Joe approached 
the bed with the mixed powder in a spoon; Dr. 
Phelps, the wisest physician in the state, has distinctly 
prohibited liquors.” 

“ Now be reasonable, George, you know that he pro- 
hibited only spirituous liquors , and this is his prescrip- 
tion.” 

“Ah, yes. Well, I’ll take this, but those drops , I’m 
afraid they have alcohol in them, and that other tinc- 
ture, my skin will drink it, sure as you live , if it gets 
a chance, and there’s alcohol in that. Ah, this is 
all ‘bosh’ about alcohol a poison. If it was poison, 
do you think all the physicians would mix it up with 
everything they give us whenever we are sick. It’s 
‘ the good creature of God,’ as Parson Reynolds says, 
‘And ought to be taken in moderation ,’ as father says; 
only, hang it, a fellow doesn’t always know what is 
going to he moderation, as the preacher found out 
last New Year’s.” 

The young man took the medicine, and Joe suc- 
ceeded in turning his attention to another subject, and 


Or, Nannie Gh'ant. 


75 


quiet came for a short time. But the time for taking 
the drops soon arrived, and he utterly refused them. 

“If Dr. Phelps won’t let me have my alcohol, I 
won’t take his.” Argument and appeal were alike 
unsuccessful. His self-will and violence increased, 
and at length he called for fresh water, for which Joe 
was obliged to go to the ground-floor. He promised 
to be very quiet, and Joe hastened back. 

Soon as the patient found himself alone, he arose, 
though with great pain, and taking a bottle from a 
closet, where it had been concealed, he put it to his 
mouth and drank a heavy draught, and then laid 
himself down in the same position as before. 

Upon his brother’s return, he drank a little water, 
and then, professing to repent of his stubbornness^ 
took the medicine, and remained quietly dozing some- 
time. This ruse succeeded so well, that he repeated 
it often, but became more unwilling to take the medi- 
cines, and irritability alternated with silliness. In 
the morning, Dr. Phelps insisted that he had taken 
alcoholic liquors of some kind; he detected it not 
only in his symptoms, but his breath; and George 
and Joe persisted that he had not. 

Ruth came down and sat with him, and great care 
was taken that he should not be left alone. 

At length, when she had left the room, and Joe 
alone was by him, the patient arose and proceeded to 
the closet. His eyes were glassy and wild, and his 
whole frame shook. He soon had placed a bottle to 
his lips, for more than one was hidden there. 


76 


Was it an Inheritance f 


Joe caught the hand, and took the bottle from him. 

“You villain !” said the maniac, and seized Joe’s 
neckkerchief, and twisted it till his face grew black. 
Then, snatching the bottle from his weakened hands, 
he held his less athletic brother in a vice-like grasp, 
while he drained the last drop. 

“There! there!” said he, with an oath, “Go tell 
your delectable M. D. that his patient had a drink, 
and let him help himself if he can !” 

After this, the closet was cleared, and still liquors 
strictly denied. Delirium of the most fearful charac- 
ter soon supervened, and pen cannot portray the suf- 
fering he endured. 

Through it all, the fact that George Grant, the 
gifted law-student, and son of Hon. Mr. Grant, 
member of Congress, was raving in mania a potu , 
was concealed from all the neighborhood. Some sur- 
mised that his skull had been fractured, as well as 
his rib, for that he was delirious, was betrayed by his 
shouts and shrieks. Yet Ruth would enter his room 
in the midst of his ravings, and, in her quiet manner, 
bring an atmosphere of coolness and strength ; and 
taking his hand, and laying hers upon his brow, fix her 
steady, gray eyes upon his, and talk slowly and calmly 
upon indifferent subjects, till the demon was laid. 

The music of her voice, and the influence of her 
spirit, were so powerful, that the “javelin was never 
once cast at her, as Saul cast it at David.” But the 
strain upon her nerves was intense, and she could re- 
main there but a few hours a day. 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


77 


Weeks elapsed before the young man was again 
able to resume his accustomed avocation and amuse- 
ments. His uncle, Dr. Phelps, had thrown into his 
way all the information possible regarding his physi- 
cal condition, and its causes ; but such publications 
were far more rare then, than at the present time, and 
George was very difficult to approach. 

Ruth, who had a decided taste for the studies of 
the medical profession, and was secretly pursuing 
them under her father’s direction, with the tact in 
conversation usual in her sex, succeded in leaving in 
the mind of her cousin many facts and truths which 
she hoped might yield the fruit of a temperate life. 
Her influence over him had become wonderful, and 
she used her utmost endeavor to make it minister 
to his greatest good. 

Mrs. Grant was devotedly pious. She was a be- 
liever in the necessity of “a new birth,” — “ regener- 
ation ” for every son and daughter of Adam. Her 
daughters seemed naturally to grow up into the same 
beliefs, and early professed to have “ experienced a. 
change of heart,” but not one of her sons had yet 
signified his adhesion to her faith. 

One afternoon during the convalescence of George, 
but before he was allowed to leave the house, Ruth 
came tripping in at “the side door,” as that entering 
the dining-room from the porch was called. Seeing 
no person there, she ran through the rooms calling 
“Lucy, Sarah, Auntie!” but heard no response. 
Opening the door of the parlor, she called, “ Auntie ! 


78 


Was it an Inheritance f 


Aunt Nannie!” thinking, perhaps, the girls were 
out, but knowing her Aunt would not leave the 
house while George was confined there. As she 
peered into the darkened room, she heard deep, ago- 
nizing groans issue from a sleeping-apartment which 
opened from the parlor. 

She hastened to open the door, and found Mrs. Grant 
upon her knees, in the attitude of prayer. Her agony 
seemed indescribable. Her face was livid, her hands 
a deep purple, and her fingers’ ends as white as death. 
She appeared like one with whom Death is fighting 
the last battle, and who is about yielding the victory. 
Short, spasmodic groans issued from her purple lips, 
as though forced out by some tremendous pressure 
upon the heart. And yet, at intervals, those lips 
uttered the words, “ My children ! 0 God , my chil- 
dren ! Save, oh, save my boys ! George l My God, 
my God, save George /” 

Ruth stood motionless and unobserved for some 
seconds, then, turning to retire, she met her cousin, 
standing immediately behind her. He had, also, been 
looking on, and his face was deathly pale. Their 
eyes met but one instant, and they spoke. Their lips 
did not . She felt it would be sacrilege to intrude 
upon the influence of that scene, and withdrew, as 
quickly and quietly as possible. 

She sought and found Lucy, who was “ taking a 
little rest.” 

“ Lucy, where are your roses ? And I find you 
more and more frequently ‘ resting.’ What makes 


Or, Nannie Grant. 79 

you tired ? And your cheeks are growing thinner, 
as well as paler.” 

“ I do not know ; I seem to have no life or spirit. 
I do not know what else to call it but listlessness, or 
laziness. I love so well to- be idle, now ; and I was 
once thought to be quite industrious ; was I not ?” 

“ Indeed you were; and I was really tired of 
hearing mother praise ‘ the industry of Cousin Lucy 
especially as it was lauded for my imitation. But I 
think the scale is reversed, now, and my reputation 
for industry should be best.” 

“ That is true ; I yield the palm.” 

“ No, you shall not; for your pale face excuses 
you. Do you feel no pain ?” 

“ None whatever.” 

" Not the least ? Your cough is better, is it not ?” 

“Oh, yes. That was only a cold. While that 
lasted I had a little pain, after coughing ; but I guess 
that was only muscular. I haven’t had even a head- 
ache for more than a month.” 

We will not ask our readers to tarry longer in 
these sick chambers, nor inflict upon them any 
lengthy descriptions of the striving and submitting ; 
the longing and learning ; the watching and waiting ; 
the wasting and weeping; the trials and final tri- 
umph, when the soul, released from its clay prison, 
soared away to “ the better-land,” where “ shall be 
no more sickness, neither sorrow nor sighing.” 

Suffice it that Lucy wasted slowly day by day, 
during one long year and a half, almost painless; suf- 


80 


Was it an Inheritance f 


fering nothing, except the inconvenience and fatigue 
consequent upon general weakness. With so little 
uneasiness how could she think herself dying. 

It was pitiful to hear her plan the future, at times; 
but her friends thought, after she was gone, that 
much of her planning was done to gratify them ; and 
that she was better aware of her condition than they 
had supposed. 

As she never discovered a doubt of her recovery, 
they felt great reluctance in expressing theirs ; and 
not until the morning of her death, was she given 
distinctly to understand, that her friends thought 
death was near. 

“Do you think so?” she said, her countenance 
brightening with surprise, apparently, wholly un- 
mixed with regret or fear. “ I had not thought to 
die so soon.” 

“You are not unwilling?” said her aunt, who stood 
beside her. 

“ Oh, no,” and a smile made her wan features beau- 
tiful again. “Not for myself,” she added, after a 
short pause, in which her mother’s sobs became audi- 
ble. “ Mother, oh, mother !” said she, reaching her 
hand to her, “ it is not dreadful. There is nothing 
fearful or sad about it, except the grief of my friends. 
Mother, what shall I tell grandma?” 

She passed away in a few short hours afterwards, 
without a struggle, a sigh, or a tear; calmly, happily, 
cheerfully. The following lines were found in her 
portfolio, in her own hand-writing, with many eras- 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


81 


ures and corrections, indicative of their origin ; and 
bore a date months prior to her death. She was lovely 
and beautiful, and has joined the band of the loving 
in a home of eternal beauty. Let us look into her 
heart as she has transferred it to paper, with her 
emaciated and unpracticed hand. 

“ They say I’m growing thinner. Well, ’tis fit 
That just before I lay this mantle down 
It should grow thread-bare. Yet methinks I see 
Another, and a glorious robe, made pure 
By Innocence’s own blood, await my form. 

They fear to tell me I must die, lest truth 

Like this should haste my steps. Ah, well it might ! 

These feet, grown weary on this thorny road, 

(Albeit the thorns are wedded with the flowers,) 

Fain would find strength, and rest, and ease, laved in 
The stream that borders on the hither side 
The dewy plains of Heaven, 

“And day by day 
They see that I grow weaker still ? Ah ! now 
I think on’t, yes, ’tis so. 

“ Well, I have watched 
A helpless chrysolis; and just before 
The winged being issued forth, I saw 
Its shell grew thin, transparent, and more frail 
Till e’en those gauzy, fragile wings, could burst 
Its bands, and flee away. Think they, to know 
Its prison bars were growing frail, could make 
That caged angel sad ? No, but it might 
Strain its unfolding wing, hasting its flight. 

“ But I will stay content while yet I may, 

For oh ’ how kind and gentle they all are ! 

4 * 


Was it an Inheritance f 


82 


God gives me much that’s sweet and good, e’en here, 
And none approach me but with loving words. 
Heaven almost comes to meet me, so 
To turn aside Death’s arrow, while I flit 
Past him, to endless rest, and endless life. 


V E’en as my Father wills, so I’m content.” 


Or 9 Nannie Grant . 


83 


i 


CHAPTER VI. 

OBSTINATE YET WEAK. 

’IVT’EARLY one year previous to Lucy’s death, 
-L i and six months after the accident of which we 
gave some account in a former chapter, George Grant 
emigrated to the western town of Chicago, — then a 
village insignificant in size, though not in the impor- 
tance of its location ; for which last, and the energy 
of its inhabitants, it was already beginning to attract 
attention. Yet few would then have believed that 
the little swampy village could so soon become the 
great city, — the Babylon that the fire-fiend found it 
in 1871, or the Phoenix that has arisen from its 
ashes in a day. 

Chicago the village, was in “the far west,” and 
that fact, with the prevalence of fevers in that sec- 
tion ; the insecurity and tediousness of then-existing 
modes of travel; and the timidity then almost uni- 
versal, regarding the safety of those who traveled 
alone, made this an event scarcely less serious to his 
friends than separation for life. 

Not so to the young man, however. 

As is often the case, those remaining at home 
experienced the bitterest pangs in parting; for high 
hopes and aspirations, and the anticipation of new 


84 


Was it an Inheritance f 


and varied scenes, divided his attention, and relieved 
the affections, by distributing the impression upon a 
wider range of faculties. 

George was healthy and strong, having encoun- 
tered no severe physical suffering except that of 
which our readers are already aware, since which he 
had materially changed his habits of life. 

Ruth appeared to have succeeded admirably in her 
efforts on his behalf ; and to her further gratification, 
an attachment had developed between him and a 
dear friend of hers* from which she hoped great and 
permanent improvement in the morals of her cousin. 

Dill Stewart was a strong-souled and true woman ; 
yielding to whose influence, George might (Ruth 
thought) mature a character that would be eminently 
adapted to secure both her happiness and his own. 

So rare and advantageous were the inducements 
offered his son, that Mr. Grant strenuously urged 
their immediate acceptance, and his removal to Chi- 
cago. 

His partner that was to be, was in middle life, had 
a large practice, was a member of the legislature of 
the State, and so entangled in its political matters 
that the professional business would be mostly in the 
hands of the junior partner; while the extensive 
acquaintance and official prestige of the senior, must 
be a great advantage to the firm. 

But while Mr. Grant approved and urged, his 
wife strongly opposed the movement. 

Among George Grant’s associates in L- 


*, none 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


85 


was more truly attached to him than Daniel Stewart, 
the brother of Dill. They had grown to manhood 
side by side ; each finding the antipode of his weak- 
nesses in the strength of his friend in those very 
particulars ; — opposites yet friends, as is frequently the 
case. 

Daniel had watched the growth of affection be- 
tween his sister and his friend, with mingled pain 
and pleasure. 

George was social, witty, and highly popular among 
the young people of L , and spent his last even- 

ings there in making parting calls upon his friends. 
Under then-existing customs, this was a season of 
severe temptation; for he usually found himself un- 
able to refuse the sparkling wine proffered by the 
hand of beauty, especially as he feared it might be 
construed as an admission that he dared not trust 
himself to taste it. 

Since his recovery from that fearful mania, he had 
practiced the most rigid abstinence, and for his aid, 
wine had been banished from the family board ; his 
father taking his glass in the solitude of his own 
room. Yet his long abstinence had not yet con- 
quered a demand for alcoholic stimulation, of which 
he was scarcely conscious when in the habit of daily 
gratifying it, and the small quantity he now sipped 
to answer the demands of courtesy, was quite enough 
to kindle the latent appetite. 

He had engaged to spend an evening with Dill, 


86 


Was it an Inheritance f 


and on the afternoon preceding, made a few calls 
that were most unfortunate in temptations. 

His head swam, and he was possessed of such a 
demon, that he turned his steps homeward, rather 
than to her door, and spent the evening in company 
of his mother, sisters, and Cousin Ruth, who, like an 
angel of hope and mercy, it seemed to him, chanced 
to be there. 

His giddiness had nearly left him when he reached 
his home, but “oh! for more drink !” His system 
was the more keenly alive to its influence for his 
short term of abstinence, and he was restless and un- 
easy all the evening ; pacing up and down the room, 
whistling, singing snatches of song, and teasing Lucy, 
committing depredations upon the work-basket, over 
which Ruth and Sarah were hovering, and actually 
pulling a needle from his mother’s knitting- work ; 
“anything” as he said, “to get up a commotion,” 
which he finally succeeded in consummating in a 
game of romps. After this, he settled down beside 
his cousin, and made a confession of the day’s sins. 

“ Ruth, I tell you what it is, I need you right be- 
side me all the time.” (He had never admitted his 
weakness, nor regret for it, to another being than 
her.) 

“What do you expect to do in Chicago?” 

“Go to the devil.” 

“Tut! tut! What kind of talk is that?” 

“It’s truth ! I shall do just that.” 

“Wouldn’t Dill do as well as I?” 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


87 


“ Yes, I guess she would ; but I can’t take her till 
I get established.” 

“ That’s just what you need, Coz — to get established 
— and neither Dill nor your cousin can do that for 
you. You must determine for yourself ; and stand by 
it for yourself. You can have no second self that can 
always be near to watch you. That would be no free- 
dom of your will, but slavery to that of another; 
and though abstinence might be a physical blessing 
to you and your friends, it would scarcely be counted 
a virtue in you. 

“Be a man , George, and not a coward. 

“ If you had been rational and independent enough 
to say to those girls to-day, ‘that wine contains alco- 
hol, and that is poison. I cannot drink to health in 
poison. If you will furnish a health-giving beverage 
I shall be happy to drink — water, for instance, with- 
out which no creature can have health or life — I shall 
be delighted to drink that with you, but I can- 
not see you drink to mine, in that which I know is 
poison to your own.’ If you had only had the in- 
dependence to say that , you could not have made an 
enemy, and must have gained respect ; and what is 
more, made the way far easier for the next time.” 

“ But I used to drink with them, and defend it. 
They’d think I’d ‘caved in.’” 

“Do you never find new truths? Ah, George! 
better ‘cave’ to truth than be crushed by a lie!” 

Daniel called during the evening, and, on leaving, 
asked, a little significantly, what he should tell Dill. 


88 


Was it an Inheritance f 


“That Til make it up to-morrow — and I will, by 
jingo — I will, Dan ! I am out of sorts, to-night, 
and knew I should act the fool if I went; and I had 
rather do that here than there. If a fellow has ever 
so fine a chance, it is something to leave his friends, 
especially so nice a girl as Dill. When I get away 
out west, I shall have to be strong and sensible all 
the time ; but when we must, we can. ‘ The back is 
fitted to its burden ;’ but I want to be humored now.” 

“ I’ll tell her,” said Daniel ; and as he walked to- 
wards home, he conversed with himself in this wise : 

“ That boy has been drinking again, as I live, and 
he don’t want to see Dill. Hasn’t had much, that’s 
a fact, but enough to want more. Now, Dill 
Stewart, you’re my sister, but a deuced good girl for 
all that ; and you shan’t throw yourself away on a 
drunkard, if he is George Grant. 

“ That fellow hasn’t strength of mind enough to 
drink moderately , and it seems he hasn’t enough to 
let it alone; consequently, his wife must be a drunk- 
ard’s wife. That shan’t be Dill Stewart. Never! 
never !” and he struck his fist on the top-board of 
Deacon Stiles’ fence with such energy that it started 
every nail from the posts. 

He went home, and told Dill what George had re- 
quested, and much more. The brother and sister 
talked till a late hour, but he failed to convince her. 
She believed in her lover so implicitly, that she was 
certain her brother over-estimated the danger, for did 
he not admit that his friend walked and talked with 


Or , Nannie Grant. 


89 


all rectitude, and that he had not smelled liquor on his 
breath ? George had said he should never taste it again, 
and she believed him. 

Morning came, and at an early hour Tim Truman 
called to say he was going over to Niantick, and 
would George drive over with him. 

The morning was charming, the sea-breeze delight- 
ful, a shower had lain the dust finely, it might be the 
last view of those scenes for — no one knew how many 
years — nothing forbade. Yes, he would be delighted 
to go, but when should they return? 

“ Oh, by noon, or a little after.” 

They went. The roads were never better, and the 
air was exhilarating. The horse was a fine trotter, 
and the nine miles were soon passed. Their road lay 
over the hills. At times they had fine outlooks upon 
the bay and sound, at others they travelled through 
winding valleys, surrounded by heaps of granite and 
verdure that rose into picturesque hills. Midway 

between L and N they entered the little 

hamlet of W . Their steed was in need of 

drink, and there stood an old-fashioned well-sweep, 
with its “ old oaken bucket” hanging over the curb, 
and a trough for the convenience of thirsty steeds. 

“ That water can’t be beat in the country,” said 
Tim, as he sprang out, loosed the check, and lowered 
the bucket. 

“ How this horse drinks ! Zounds ! but it makes 
me thirsty to see him. Whoa! hold up your head 


90 


Was it an Inheritance f 


here, boy ; you’re drinking too fast ;” said he, giving 
the reins a jirk. 

“ Good-morning, young gentlemen.” 

The creaking of the well-sweep had notified the 
landlord of their presence, and he sauntered out upon 
the porch in front of the tavern. “A fine day.” 

“A very fine morning, indeed,” said George. 

“ Won’t you come in and rest awhile in the shade? 
The sun is getting purty hot. I’ll hitch yer hoss.” 

“ No, thank you, we’re in something of a hurry,” 
said Tim. 

“ It seems kind o’ mean to stop and water at his 
trough, and not leave him a cent for anything added 
he, in an undertone. 

“Go in and get it, if you want anything,” said 
George ; “ I’ll watch the horse.” 

“ Won’t you go in ?” 

“ No, thank you.” 

“But, I’ll hitch the horse. Yes, come on.” 

“ No, I’ll not go in. I don’t want anything. I 
expect that’s all the old cuss has this well outside his 
fence for. I don’t like such underhanded ways.” 

Tim went in alone, just to take one drink to redeem 
himself from the suspicion of meanness. The wiley 
spider had spread his net well to catch the silly 
flies. 

He mixed the best cocktail his genius could devise. 

“ That’s nice, by jiminy ! George ! George ! Come 
in, old fellow. Best drink here ye ever tasted in your 
life.” 


91 


Or, Nannie Grant 

“But I don’t want it. Oh, come out; let’s go 
on.” 

“ Mix another, old man, he must have one, or if 
he won’t take it, I will,” and taking the glass, he ran 
out to the carriage. 

“ Now, George, my boy, you must drink this in 
honor of your last ride with me.” 

“ You talk as if you were going to have me die. 
I expect to come back again.” 

“Well, well; drink this. We may both be gray- 
headed when we drink together again.” 

“ I had rather not. Now don’t bother me.” 

But Tim urged, and finally seemed angry; when 
George asked, “is it strong?” 

“No; mild as a lamb; drink it now, come, or I’ll 
never forget it of you, that I won’t.” 

“You’ll not ask me to take another?” 

“No.” 

“ Done. Here goes,” and he took it, as though it 
were an unpalatable dose. But once down, the 
spirits began to warm his nerves and his affections, 
and he regretted that he had wounded his friend's 
feelings by refusing to drink with him. 

Tim went back and took two more, then bade the 
old man mix another, and take it out to George, and 
tell him to drink at his treat. “ I’ll pay for it, but 
you may have the credit of the treat, for I promised 
not to ask him to drink again.” 

Alas! George was more easily persuaded than 
before, and he returned the empty glass to the land- 


92 


Was it an Inheritance f 


lord, as Tim took the lines, and touched the whip to 
the horse, and they sped on to N . 

Truman’s business was with the Indians there, and 
his drinks had made him irritable, as usual. 

He dealt with them often, and without difficulty 
when sober, but on this occasion he came near pro- 
voking violence by his insulting language. 

Had not “ the red-skins,” as he called them to their 
faces, evinced a higher state of Christian crvilization 
than our young men, grave disaster might have re- 
sulted. 

On their return, of course they called upon “ Old 
Sykes” again, both were ready for “ another horn or 

two,” and every tavern between N , and L , 

was patronized by them, till neither was sober enough 
to drive safely. 

They went at a furious rate, singing and yelling, 
and hooting at the staid citizens they passed. 

At length George, who had taken the least drink, 
endeavored to impress upon his friend the necessity 
of maintaining decorum as they neared the neighbor- 
hood of their residence. 

“ Tim,” said he, “ I tell you what, we’ve had a 
glorious good time, that’s a fact^ but we’d better hold 
up now. 

“Come, Tim, hush!” said he, as that worthy 
uttered a long shriek in imitation of an Indian war^ 
whoop. 

“Hush, is it? We’ll hic-a-hic-a-hic, hie-yie-yie- 
o-u-w-ow-ow-ow-yei-yei-yei ! / There ! it’s hush is it? 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


93 


and the sound, enough to curdle one’s blood, rang out 
over all the hills around about.” 

“ Tim Trueman ! I shall leave this carriage at 
once, and walk into the village ! ” 

Leave at once/ will you? Well, leave then. 
Let’s see you go ; ” and he laid the lash snugly upon 
the haunches of the steed, which bounded off at a 
fearful rate. The chaise leaped and plunged over the 
stones, and George was thrown upon his knees in the 
carriage, and his cheek struck upon the dash-board, 
cutting a slight gash, and bruising the flesh. 

“ Whoa ! whoa ! ” cried Tim, tugging at the reins 
with all his might. Some moments elapsed before he 
could sufficiently control the animal to allow George 
to rise to his seat; and during the interval they 
passed the chaise of esquire Stewart, in which Dill’s 
father and mother were enjoying a comfortable drive. 

The wound upon his face was small, but blood was 
trickling from it, and dropping upon his white vest ; 
and with all the attending circumstances, no doubt 
of his condition could arise. 

Truly and deeply mortified, his humiliation was 
complete when Tim drew rein in front of esquire 
Stewart’s residence. 

“ Here, old chap ; here you are,” he bawled. 

In vain did the young man plead the disordered 
condition of his dress, and his bleeding face. 

“ Why, man alive ! it’s past two o’clock, and she 
is in tears over your tardiness now! Go, in your 
dust; indicative of your haste to be near her ; bow 


94 


Was it an Inheritance t 


down before her and beseech her pardon; and the 
sight of your flowing blood spilled by the luckless 
order of your friend to second your desires, can but 
mollify her anger, and bid her welcome you with 
merciful forgiveness.” 

The sound of the carriage-wheels and the loud 
voices, attracted Dill’s attention ; and looking from 
the window, she saw George alighting from the oppo- 
site side of the chaise, his face being turned from her ; 
and at once she came upon the piazza. As she stood 
there, Tim addressed her. 

“I commend him to your kind graces and tender 
nursing, and here he is, Miss Stewart.” 

As George emerged from behind the chaise and 
approached, staunching the blood with his already 
saturated handkerchief, his clothing covered with 
dust, and his whole face crimson, she was not a little 
alarmed, and running to assist him, as he made an 
ineffectual effort to enter the gate, she took his arm 
with the tenderest solicitude, and led him to the 
house. 

As they ascended the steps, his conscience smiting 
him all the time, he turned his face upon her, with 
eyes filled with tears, and said, with a weak and silly 
smile, “ Dill, you’re a sweet girl. I didn’t know you 
were half so sweet. We’ll be happy together, won’t 
we ?” 

The fumes of his breath were in her face, and they 
sickened her physically, but her soul was sickened 
beyond measure. This was the lover who was to 


Or, Nannie Grant 


95 


leave her to-morrow, and return in a few months to 
make her his bride ! 

“ No ! no ! ” thought she, “ though my heart bled 
ever so freely, I could never become the wife of such 
a man.” 

What Dan had said was too true. Yes, it was all 
true. He had said she should never be the wife of a 
drunkard, and she now added, “amen” 

What should she do with him now? Send him 
through the streets to his mother and sisters? That 
she could not do. They were his and her dear friends, 
and she could not so pain them, and as she had once 
loved him (her heart said, “ once — forever ”) his 
good name, as his well-being and doing, must always 
be a matter of deep interest to her. “Father and 
mother are away,” thought she, “ I will care for him 
as he needs, and perhaps this will make it easier for 
us both.” 

She led him into the cool back-parlor, procured 
water and a towel and a bit of adhesive plaster. 

Though his very presence was disgusting to her, 
and his breath offensive, she bathed his face tenderly 
with her own hand, and applied the plaster to the 
wound, feeling as if performing a funeral rite. Then 
very quietly she said, “George, you are not well; lie 
down upon the sofa and rest. I will leave you, and 
pray take a short nap ; when Fm sure you will feel 
better.” 

“Dill! Dill!” said he, “you are an angel! Do 
you know why I am not well ? Oh Dill ! let me tell 


96 


Was it an Inheritance? 


you all about it ;” and he drew her to his side upon 
the sofa, and kissed her with a manner that made 
her blood chill. 

“I had rather you would not now,” said she gently 
but very firmly. 

“Go to sleep as I have told you. When you 
wake we will talk it all over,” and she deftly slipped 
from his grasp and glided from the room. 

The door once closed, she turned the lock noise- 
lessly, and going into the front parlor, she bolted the 
door between that and the room where he lay ; then 
pale and violently agitated, she walked the floor for 
hours. 

Up and down the sitting-room she paced, weigh- 
ing the matter in the light of principle and duty. 

Not self-interest alone said “do not marry this man.” 
As her husband he must be brother to her brother, 
and son to her parents. And more, she knew that 
marriage in its fulfillment implied paternity. 

The horrors of a drunkard’s home, as she had seen 
it among her neighbors, passed in review before her, 
and she shuddered at the recollection of the suffer- 
ings of childhood there. 

The struggle was short, for her principles were 
well-grounded ; but the affections writhed and flut- 
tered in the death-struggle, which continued many 
days, though that determined will, anchored on prin- 
ciple, could not be moved. 

Her parents returned, bringing what they sup- 
posed the sad news; but Dill’s manner told them 


Or, Nannie Grrant. 


97 


plainly that the news had preceded them, though 
she said not a word of his presence in the house. 

Excusing herself from the late tea, she softly en- 
tered the back parlor, and found George just awak- 
ing. She brought his hat. " Shall we go to your 
father’s? I will accompany you.” 

He had but a confused recollection how he came 
where he was, and followed her without a word, 
down the garden walk, where she culled a tiny bou- 
quet as they passed to a gate upon the opposite side; 
and through this, out upon an unimproved street; 
from thence on to the main street, and to his father’s 
mansion. 

She plucked, and gave him as she plucked, eglan- 
tine, althea, oleander, blue violet, and rosemary; and 
as they passed through the unoccupied street, she 
also culled from the wild-flowers there, sprigs of 
holley and everlasting, and added to the unpre- 
tending though portentous bouquet. 

As her fingers grasped a snap-dragon, and then a 
syringa, they trembled, yet she plucked and twirled 
them nervously, till, as they passed up the walk to 
his father’s door, with sudden resolution she pre- 
sented them, with, — “ better take these.” 

He took them. What else could he do? She had 
taught him their language, and now they spoke for 
her, not the less eloquently because silently. What 
could he say in defence? One thought came to his 
aid. He grasped her arm, — “ I took but four drinks. 

5 


98 


Was it an Inheritance f 


Dan could have borne six , and come home all right. 
Am I to blame that I can bear less ?” 

“ Only to blame for attempting to bear any when 
you know that you cannot.” 

“ Then you condemn me for my misfortune ?” 

“ No ; for not recognizing your misfortune, if it is 
such, and governing yourself accordingly, I fear 
your lack of self-control will be your ruin.” 

“ Do you believe it ? Do you believe it ? Dill, 
tell me true ?” 

“ I did not say I believed it, I said I feak. With 
you rests the decision. I am afraid you are not suffi- 
ciently careful in the choice of associates.” 

“ Dill ! where can I find associates that will not 
tempt me? Everybody drinks. The deacons and 
ministers tempt me. I don’t know what a fellow is 
to do if a drop sets him crazy, as it does me. I wish 
the cursed stuff was all in the bottom of the Dead 
Sea. In God’s name, Dill, help me. If we were 
married, I would have no other associate but you, and 
you would save me ; I know you could ! ” His grasp 
was painfully tight ; she looked in his face, but shook 
her head sadly. 

“ Society would still, and rightfully, hold its de- 
mands upon you. You could not spend all your time 
with me. I have no right to marry you, knowing 
what I do.” 

At that instant, the door, before which they had 
paused, was opened by Mr. Grant. 

“ Well, my son, glad to see you — mother was a lit- 














4 












































. 

► 














.f 


/ ■' 























9 










* 











































' 














» 

























Or, Nannie Grant. 


99 


tie uneasy, as she expected you home near noon. But 
it’s all right. Glad to see you in such good company. 
Hope you may always keep it — then you are all 
right.” 

Poor Dill felt almost too weak to stand ; but her 
soul fainted not, for she had called upon the Lord in 
that day of trouble, and He had strengthened her. 
Oh, had she but commended George to the same help. 

They found Joe and Seth at home, and with them 
and their mother and sisters, they passed a pleasant 
evening. 

After eight o’clock, Mollie and Ruth came in, with 
Uncle Phelps, and even Cousin Tom “ gave them the 
light of his countenance,” as Lucy said — a rare thing 
for him to do, as he was a most indefatigable student, 
and allowed himself little time for social or other re- 
creation. 

This was an important era in the history of the 
Grant family, and as George pinched the still plump 
but pale cheek of Lucy, and Joe dallied with her 
curls, none dreamed that she would be the first to 
make the journey to the land from whence no traveler 
can return. 

George was not the only son that would leave on 
the morrow. Joe was also to forsake the roof-tree 
to try a new sphere, one of no less trial, perhaps, 
though much nearer home than that to which his 
brother was destined; because New York was nearer, 
his departure had attracted far less attention in the 
family and neighborhood than his brother’s, and 


100 


Was it an Inheritance f 


then Henry Phelps was already in New York, and 
neither kith nor kin awaited George in Chicago. 

The evening passed rapidly, each vieing with the 
other to procrastinate the sadness that must come on 
the morrow, and give “ the boys ” a happy evening, 
to cherish as the last spent at home. 

As Dill and her lover parted at her father’s door, 
at ten o’clock that evening, he asked, “ are you inex- 
orable ?” 

"Oh, George!” said she, "I cannot do otherwise. 
I would, if I could, but do you think this costs me 
nothing? If so, you mistake me.” 

“ I may surely have a parting kiss ?” 

She turned her cheek to him, and attempted to 
smile. 

He kissed it, and she waved her hand in adieu, 
entered the door hastily and closed it behind her. 
Just before it latched, he arrested it, and whispered, 
"You will come and see me off in the morning?” 

“ If you wish it.” 

"I do.” 

“ I will come.” 

The door closed. She seated herself in the nearest 
chair, buried her face in her hands, and sat without 
motion, till the tall old clock in the corner startled 
her with twelve loud strokes. 

Rising, she observed a few tear-drops that had 
fallen upon the table, on which she had leaned her 
elbows, and wiped them off with her handkerchief, 
and snuffed the long wick from the candle, which had 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


101 


burned near to its socket, took up the candle-stick, 
and sought her chamber and her couch ; but not to 
sleep. 

Through the long night she kept vigils with that 
poor, weak soul, that declared she could save it. 

She heard the voice of his father, whose judgment 
she respected, saying, “ Glad to see you in such good 
company. Hope you will always keep it — then you 
are all right.” 

After all, what had he done? Was it not as he 
had said ? Was she not dismissing him for his mis- 
fortune ? If he could drink twice the amount he did, 
and stand it, would she make so much of it? 

There was his father — did not her own uncle get 
intoxicated drinking with him, and not take half the 
amount Mr. Grant did, when no one would have 
thought him “ the worse for the liquor?” “Oh, God! 
for light ! 

“ Is this dreadful conflict between love and pride f 
or love and duty ?” she asked herself. “ No, no ; it 
is not pride. Is not his family honorable ? and are 
not his prospects the most flattering ? ’Tis love and 
duty.” 

Thus she passed the night, and rejoiced to see the 
morning’s dawn, that the last parting might soon be 
over. Alas ! it was the last. 

The stage left at eight o’clock. Dill had taken no 
food since dinner of the day before, and, weary with 
her long vigils, and with fear and trembling, she 
approached the residence of the Honorable Mr. 


102 


Was it an Inheritance f 


Grant. The Grant and Stewart families had lived 
on terms of great intimacy, which had been inten- 
sified by the young people of the generation of which 
we write. 

Dan was by his sister’s side, and whistling softly, 
which was ominous of coming speech, which she 
attempted to forestall. 

“ How long since you attended a funeral ?” 

“ A funeral ! A year or two, I guess. What a 
question to ask ! What on earth do you mean, girl ?” 

“ I mean to ask when you last attended a funeral. 
And did you whistle f” 

Dan did not answer. But she only designed to 
divert attention from the subject she knew was loiter- 
ering upon his tongue. Not another word was spoken 
till they reached the gate, when he laid his hand upon 
it, holding it firmly closed, looked his sister in the 
eyes, and said : 

“ Dill, you shall hear this : if you marry that boy , 
your friends might well be happier at your funeral 
than at your wedding.” 

“ Quite complimentary to some one , undoubtedly. 
< That boy’ was, quite recently, a very intimate and 
dear friend of Dan Stewart’s. Which has suffered 
by the association ? I suppose it must be the weaker . 
Please let me pass ?” 

He opened the gate and allowed her to enter ; nor 
did he utter another word till, as he wrung the hand 
of his friend for the last time, he said, “ Good-by, 
old fellow. Take care of yourself. Remember all 


Or , Nannie Grant . 


103 


my good counsel, and forget my bad examples — that 
is, if you can ; and if you can’t, Lord help you and 
me.” 

The parting between George and Dill would have 
scarcely attracted the attention of a stranger — it was 
quite a common-place affair. 

He broke a small sprig from an oak-geranium 
which stood near them, and drew its stem under the 
large cameo-pin she wore, and said, “ You will write 
to me ?” 

She smiled pleasantly, and said, “ I will write.” 
They shook hands, and parted — forever? Fearful 
word ! Was it forever f To eternity ? Through end- 
less ages should their paths lie separate? If so, 
divergent? None but the Omnipotent knoweth; and 
blessed are we in our ignorance. 


104 


Was it an Inheritance t 


CHAPTER VII. 

SEEKING HER PLACE. 

~\/ EARS passed, in which George wrote but sel- 

1 dom and briefly to his family. He still re- 
mained in Chicago, but his friends could learn but 
little of his affairs, and nothing of his habits and mode 
of life. 

During the first months of his absence he wrote oc- 
casionally to Ruth; since which time her frequent 
letters elicited no response. 

He had written Dill but once, and then besought 
her to reconsider her decision, and renew her engage- 
ment to become his wife. The following reply, which 
he received, closed the correspondence. 

“My Dear Friend: — In accordance with my 
promise, and in answer to your kind letter, I write, 
yet I feel that these must be the last lines I shall ever 
address you. I meant all that my words and flowers 
could convey, on that last evening we spent together. 
Not that I value your good qualities (and they are 
many) one whit less than formerly, but because 1 am 
impelled by a strong sense of duty to myself and 
others, do I say these things. 

“ That you have been very dear to me, I think you, 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


105 


in the depths of your heart, do not doubt ; whether 
you are still the same, remains with God and myself 
to know. Yet, oh, George, I confess I do not break 
our engagement without heartache. 

“ My dear friend, (I entreat you, still let me call you 
so) allow me to perform that unwelcome office of a 
friend, and tell you some of your faults ; since to do 
this is but giving my reasons for the decision I have 
made. But first let me say, I fear that on further 
acquaintance you might have found in me, qualities 
no more congenial to you, than some I think I have 
found in you, would be to me. Do not be offended 
if I speak plainly. I think, that while you possess 
little firmness of principle, you have great stubborn- 
ness of disposition. Set in your notions and preju- 
dices, you are not firm in the decisions of your better 
judgment. This appears severe, I know, but I do not 
feel severe. You have been educated to accept the 
dictum of habit and custom almost blindly — to rev- 
erence settled ways and dogmas, simply because they 
are such. This forbids investigation, and binds you 
to narrow ideas. It does not develop thought, good 
principles, nor an aptness for progress. This is a 
great impediment to your overcoming the love of 
strong drink. You are self -bound; hand, foot, and 
head. Your father’s dinner was never complete with- 
out his wine or brandy, which he has taken blindly, 
unreasoningly, because others have done the same; 
practically, at least, despising your uncle’s wise warn- 
5 * 


106 


Was it an Inheritance f 


ings, and, by example, teaching his children to do the 
same. 

“ Combined with these inherited and inculcated qual- 
ities, you have your mother’s nervous impulsiveness 
and lack of self-control. 

“Your mother’s impulses do not lead her greatly 
astray, for they are usually good ; yet, probably be- 
cause they are good, she gives them the reins that 
should be in the hands of reason. Your self-will and 
craving for alcoholic stimulants, were the gift of your 
father; but the mother’s nerves in you, will not allow 
you to control or conquer that craving, except you enlist 
all your intellectual and moral faculties and their 
auxiliaries to combat it. This, you will not do. 

“ Look at it. Stubbornness is self-will exercised 
against the reason of the person harboring it, and 
when in favor of a custom of society condemned by 
the judgment, that person’s own will , is set in com - 
but against his own reason , and in favor of the dictum 
of others ! Can anything be more craven f 

“ Your reason is convinced that you ought not to 
taste alcoholic drinks; but prejudice and habit are on 
the other side, and you do not rise above them, in the 
strength of your manhood and superior intellectual 
abilities, and commit yourself before society, as the 
freeman of God , and your higher nature; rather than 
the bond-slave of habit and society. You lack firm- 
ness to stand openly by your own intelligent convic- 
tions, if they are new to you. 

“ I think your happiness, perhaps, not less than mine, 


Or y Nannie Grant. 


107 


forbids that our destinies should be united. Ask your 
conscience, and answer to your heart; am I right? 
If in anything I can ever truly serve you, I shall 
be most happy to do so. What more can friendship 
say? I therefore sign myself, as I shall ever re- 
main, 

“ Most truly and faithfully your friend, 

“ Dill Stewart.” 

Joe wrote frequently, and was delighted with the 
city, his business, his employer, and his boarding- 
place. 

"He will never lack friends,” his mother said, 
“but George will choose those for friends who will be 
enemies In disguise.” 

Joe’s habits had always been good, and he was so 
pleasing in person and address, that his friends felt 
little uneasiness on his account. His employer, an 
old friend of Mr. Grant, gave flattering reports of 
him. 

Communication between Abbie and her friends had 
nearly ceased. This seems strange to us, but the past 
forty or fifty years have wrought great improvements 
in our postal-system, as well as reduction of its rates ; 
and at that distance in the past, such interruptions of 
correspondence were not rare. 

William Grant, junior, was a prosperous sea-captain, 
and his wife and only son resided in Philadelphia, 
with her parents. 

He had never presented them to his family, nor 


108 


Was it an Inher itance f 


had he ever visited his birth-place since his mar- 
riage. 

Seth had grown a wayward youth, causing his 
parents more heart-aches than all their other children 
had done at his age. Physically he was large and well- 
made, and of comely countenance; but the irrepres- 
sibility of his childhood had developed into head- 
long pursuit of animal pleasures. 

He was yet in what has aptly been called “the 
chaotic stage,” and had either his physical restless- 
ness, or his self-will, existed without the exaggerated 
form of the other, it might have been manipulated 
into an excellence; but little could now be done but 
buffet with the effervescence of both. He was apt, 
ingenious, studious of nature and events, yet mis- 
chievous, daring, and impatient of control; sensitive 
and affectionate, yet exacting, and even exasperating; 
tyrannical as a Turk, yet yielding as a silly maiden 
to the voice of flattery. With apparent perfection 
of health, he possessed a peculiarly nervous constitu- 
tion which positively forbade quiet of body or 
temper. From his birth he had been a constant 
worrier of the household ; never content to see any 
creature in a state of quiescence. Yet he was not 
intentionally ill-natured in these demonstrations. A 
degree of this condition seems to be normal to boys 
of a certain age, but Seth had been horn into the 
state of unrest which boys usually enter about the 
age of from twelve to fifteen years; and the addi- 
tion of those years brought an intensification of this 


Or, Nannie Grant. 109 

condition equivalent to the full experience of others, 
and which was absolutely uncontrollable by reason 
of the obstinacy of his disposition. 

We have already followed Lucy to her early couch 
in the cemetery. 

Sarah, who had always been delicate, had, since her 
sister’s death, gradually become a confirmed inva- 
lid. She spent weary months upon a bed of pain, 
and at length her physician informed her that chronic 
disease of the spine was imminent, if not already 
present ; and she looked forward to years of suffer- 
ing, confinement, and probable deformity, to be 
borne till Death came to deliver her. 

Thomas Phelps, an “ honorable L_ember of the 
medical profession,” was permanently located in Bos- 
ton. 

Henry was a member of a firm in New York, 
engaged in an extensive manufacture and importa- 
tion of watches, jewelry, silver- ware, etc. 

Mary, the eldest daughter of Dr. Phelps, senior — 
known to the reader as Mrs. Gilbert, was the mother 
of four sons, of whom she wrote to her parents , u Our 
boys are our comfort and our hope. James, our eld- 
est, is already prepared to enter college, but must wait 
a few months till he is old enough to be admitted. 
His brothers, though none of them are quite so stu- 
dious, are good boys, and we think equally gifted ; 
so we do not regret that they are not precocious, as 
book-worms. They all have good health, and good 


110 Was it an Inheritance f 

morals; and we look forward to their becoming good 
citizens.” 

Mrs. Phelps — Mollie, as we learned to call her in 
her youth, was at this time over sixty years of age ; 
but her eye was little dimmed ; and her step, though 
having lost its former lightness, was firm, and not 
altogether inelastic. 

Health had almost uniformly been hers ; and sick- 
ness had seldom been a guest in her family. The 
laws of health had been so faithfully studied by the 
doctor and his wife, and so far as known, been so 
well observed, that their children began life with 
good constitutions, and with that self-control, both 
constitutional and habitual, which is so necessary to 
retain good health. And now when their locks were 
bleached, and they counted their years more than 
three-score, the doctor adding ten, they yet looked 
forward to many more years, in which to enjoy the 
fruit of their care and pains. Ruth had pursued 
her medical studies till her father could aid her no 
further, and there her progress was arrested. 

She often accompanied her father on his profes- 
sional visits, and remained at the bedsides of the 
sick to administer remedies and watch their effects. 

Her brother was gaining an enviable reputation in 
Boston, and she could scarcely contemplate the oppor- 
tunities for improvement which lay open for him, 
yet closed to her, without feelings akin to envy. 

“ Mother,” said Sarah one July evening, “I do not 


Or, Nannie Grant 


111 


believe it would hurt me to walk over to Aunt Mol- 
lie’s. It is only a few steps.” 

“ My child! are you crazy? Have you not suf- 
fered enough to-day? You could not expect to sleep 
a wink to-night.” 

“But, mother, I have been thinking how can my 
back get strong when I do not exercise it, but just 
sit with these hot pillows against it? If I should 
treat my arm so, the flesh would soon grow soft and 
my arm would lose its strength as my back has done. 
Uncle Phelps says the pillows are bad, yet I seem to 
need some support. I must get strength. You 
know I have not so much general pain in this hot 
weather, and it seems to me this is just the time for 
me to try exercise, — when there is no danger of taking 
cold. Maybe I should sleep better if I walked a 
little.” 

“Is it possible that I dread those paroxysms of 
pain worse than you do? and when you strain your 
back, you know they always come.” 

“But if you would just put your arm around me, 
and walk slowly, and steadily, and keep step exactly, 
I believe I could go ; it seems as though it would be 
as good as a journey to Paris, to see the inside of 
Rutlds room. I’m so tired of this house and 
lawn.” 

“But, my dear child ! your father takes you out to 
ride whenever you wish, or sends John ; and it’s not 
so very long since you were at Aunt Mary’s, I’m 
sure.” 


112 


Was it an Inheritance? 


“ Yes, but when I ride I’m so tired out that I can’t 
enjoy it.” 

“ And so you propose to walk ?” 

“ Yes ; for every time the horse shakes his head, 
or kicks at a fly, it startles me; and every stone 
or pebble under the wheels hurts my back by a 
jar. And then I always think ‘/’m sick and riding 
out for my health/ and that spoils all the pleasure. 
If I could only think I went for the fun of it; just 
because I wanted to ! Now I want to walk to aunt 
Mollie’s, and talk with Ruth in her own room, if I 
never go there again, and I believe it will do me good 
to go.” 

“ Just as you say,” said Mrs. Grant, “ though it 
seems to me very unwise.” 

“ Please then let me be foolish. I have to be wise 
so much ; and it isn’t natural. Thwarting nature so 
much is enough to keep me sick.” 

Mrs. Grant brought a dainty little hood and a 
shawl for her daughter, and placing her arm about 
her waist, and “ keeping step ” as she had desired, 
they crept down the flagged walk, through the gate, 
and up the street. 

“ How strange it seems to be on the street again ! 
You have no idea how odd, and yet familiar, every- 
thing looks. Why, mother, do you know it’s almost 
two years since I stood here last ? J ust think ! Two 
years ! and we’re not three rods from our gate yet. 
Oh, just look there !” 

“ What, my child ?” 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


113 


“Why, at the children’s ‘ play-house ! ’ That’s 
just the spot where Lucy, Ruth, and I used to build 
ours. How we did work, bringing all the boards 
and bricks we could find to build the shelves for our 
bits of crockery ! One time we built an extra-nice 
house, and for the roof, George and Joe brought long 
pieces of rails, and laid across the fence-corner there 
for rafters ; and the long boards for the cover and 
floor, they took from a pile Mr. Smith had over there 
where his house now stands. Only borrowed them, 
you know. We had no intention of stealing . 

“ But one day he discovered his loss, while we were 
here at play, and came blustering down upon us, 
‘ like the wolf on the fold.’ ‘ See here, you young 
thieves/ said he, ‘what did you steal my lumber 
for ? How dare you ? Don’t you know I can have 
you all taken to jail for it?’ 

“ Ruth had brought some edibles for our table, which 
we had already laid for dinner. Henry had been for 
water, and returned just then, leading little Seth, who 
was but three or four years old. We were all dumb 
with fright as Mr. Smith proceeded to pull our floor 
from beneath the table, and took hold of the roofing 
to remove that. But Seth straightened himself up to 
his tallest, saying : ‘ Mr. Smith, what are you taking 
those boards away for ? ’ 

“ ‘Because they are mine.’ 

“ ‘ Can you prove it ? Because, if you can’t, you’re 
trespassing, and my father’ll see to you.’ 


114 


Was it an Inheritance f 


“ Angry as Mr. Smith was, the dignified assurance 
of the little fellow, upset his gravity. 

“‘Well, well, my young lawyer, I confess I’m 
caught ; but mind you, when I can prove that these 
boards are mine, I shall take them.’ 

“ ‘ You can’t do that , according to law. You’ll have 
to send Mr. Jackson, the constable, to take them ; 
and I should think you’d know it. Mr. Jackson 
would be better-natured about it, and let us eat our 
dinner, before he tore our roof off, and he wouldn’t tip 
our table over pulling our floor up, and spoil all the 
nice tilings Aunt Mollie gave us. I guess she don’t 
think we’re thieves, and she’s a good woman.’ 

“ That was just like Seth. He always had a faculty 
of making home-thrusts, and he never oiled his words. 
How do you suppose the child knew those things.” 

“ Oh, I suppose he had heard the men talking of 
some case in the neighborhood, and you know he 
never failed to remember anything, and at just the 
right time.” 

“ Poor boy ! poor boy ! what has become of him ? 
Oh ! what would I not give to know to-night ? sighed 
the poor mother. 

They crept on in silence, till they reached Dr. 
Phelps’ gate. 

“ Do my eyes deceive me, or is that Sarah Grant’s 
ghost accompanied by her living mother?” And 
Puth and her father came down the walk to 
offer their assistance, while Aunt Mollie brought pil- 


Or, Nannie Gh'ant. 115 

lows for the old settle, that she might lie down and 
rest. 

“ Is this wise, Sarah,” asked the doctor. 

“ I’m sure it is; for I don’t feel half as bad as 
when I ride. And I wanted to see Ruth.” 

“ W anted to see Ruth! Bless your dear heart! 
Why didn’t you send for her ?” 

“But I wanted to see her, and the house and 
garden, and to talk with her in her own beautiful 
room; and please, uncle, don’t join mother in saying 
it will make me sick, or it will. But I shan’t be 
sorry I walked, if it does make me worse ; for I’ve 
seen the old spot where we children used to play 
‘keep house;’ and now I want to stay and sleep 
with Ruth to-night, as I did sometimes when Lucy 
was here to object a little while, and then say, ‘ Stay, 
sister, if you wish ; I shall sleep the more soundly, 
and will come and tell you, if mother objects.’ Don’t 
look so displeased, mother ; I did not think of stay- 
ing, till after we passed the play-house ; and I’ll go 
back now, if you wish. But I want to lie down on 
Ruth’s bed. Can’t I ?” And she looked from one 
face to another, with such pitiful pleading, that Mrs. 
Grant gave consent ; and her uncle and cousin made 
a seat of their four hands, on which she sat down, 
and, placing an arm around the neck of each, was 
borne up the wide stairs to her cousin’s room. 

When the pillows had all been arranged, and the 
blind thrown open to admit the breeze, the glow of 
the sunset, that burned in the west, burst in, and she 


116 


Was it an Inheritance f 


exclaimed, “ Just look, Ruth ! Oh, glorious ! glo- 
rious ! Is it not ? Do you know what glory means ? 
* Brightness, lustre, splendor;’ but with the added 
idea of ‘ opening, enlarging, clearing.’ No wonder 
going to heaven is called ‘going to glory;’ ‘the 
eternal weight of glory.’ See how the clouds hang 
around the death-bed of the day, and turn them- 
selves to catch the hues that glimmer through the 
rifts where the to-morrow of to-day reaches in from 
the limitless to-day of eternity. And see ! those same 
hues are reflected from the clouds upon the waters 
beneath, that wait their turn to be vaporized ! Oh, 
Ruth !” (her face kindling with the thought) “ when 
the gates of Paradise open to let our friends go 
through, I wonder if our very reluctance to part 
from them does not, sometimes, draw us up so near 
those gates, that heavenly glories shine on us, and if 
the glimpses we catch of the bright eternal day may 
not again bless, by reflection, some poor earth-bound 
mortal. If so, oh! death is beautiful, charming, 
glorious ! and no more fearful than this entrancing 
scene before us. 

“Ruth, you have never been sick — not long, at 
least ; but you have seen many restless patients ?” 

“Yes; and I remember how I suffered, when 
the school-teacher said I ‘ should sit still for once,’ 
and tied me, hand and foot and body, into her chair, 
and kept me there a full hour, scarcely allowing me 
to breathe. I had never suffered before, and, in 
comparison, can scarcely say that I have since. I 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


117 


was sick a week from it, and I believe father thinks, 
that months passed before the effects were all 
gone.” 

“ Oh, Cousin ! do you ever feel as though your 
soul had wings, strong and full-grown, and they were 
tied just so, and every time you tried to slip those 
bands, or untie, or cut, or break them, all the world 
cried out, ‘For shame! keep quiet and gave the 
bands another twitch, to make them tighter? You, 
and others, think it is dreadful, when I am obliged 
to lie in bed, weeks and months in succession ; and 
the restlessness I sometimes experience, is suffering 
scarcely exceeded by the dreadful spasms ; but the 
body couldn’t suffer at all, if it was not for the soul in 
it; and when this soul feels this dreadful restlessness , 
the pain seems to be intensified by being in the think - 
ing, feeling part.” 

“ Do I ever experience such feelings ? Just think 
what a struggle the past few years have been to me ! 
I love the study of my profession, with my whole soul. 
(I will call it my ‘ profession ,’ if all the fogies in the 
world say it is a man’s business.) Thomas could go on 
with the studies necessary to prepare him for the occu- 
pation he chose, and the State opened its coffers to aid 
him ; and now he finds happiness in the harmonious 
activity of the faculties God gave him, and the con- 
sciousness that he is doing his best for the good of the 
race. But though father would do no less for me than 
he did for Thomas, the State virtually tells me that my 
happiness is not worth its cultivation, and I may 


118 


Was it an Inheritance f 


fret my life away in uncongenial pursuits; for I have 
no liberty to demand its fostering care. ‘ Life, lib- 
erty, and the pursuit of happiness ’ are inalienable 
rights of men , but ineligible to women. The door of 
every medical college in the world is closed against 
me. ‘ It requires great gifts, and physical strength, 
and would be so dreadful for your morals ?’ they tell 
me. If women do not know enough, and are not 
strong enough, why not let us try , since they are sure 
we shall fail? No law, human or divine, requires or 
excuses the sacrifice of one soul for another; and if it 
would be so jeopardizing to our morals, is it not so to 
theirs ? Why don’t they speak the truth, and say they 
want the fee, and will take means to keep us from 
sharing it with them ? But they had rather utter the 
sneer — ‘ a masculine woman !’ ” 

“ Is it then, true, that masculinity monopolizes the 
enterprise of the race ?” asked Sarah. 

“ The feminine Oliver Twists that are so audaci- 
ously asking for ‘more ’ are sufficient answer. 

“ I do but ask for an opportunity to try what I can 
do — to share with my brother the taxes our father 
paid to build and endow those institutions; and the 
whole medical profession, with but few honorable ex- 
ceptions, rush out pell-mell, crying: ‘Bolt the door! 
Bar the windows ! Keep her out ! Keep her out ! 
A woman doctor ! Impossible ! God and nature for- 
bid it! Bolt the door ! Keep her out!’ 

“ Why doesn’t the ocean go begging of Sam 
Baker’s mill-pond, lest its tide should run dry? Why 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


119 


doesn’t the north-wind ask the loan of their bellows; 
and the sun the light of their tallow-candle, since 
Nature is in such straights that our doctors must come 
to her aid! ‘ A masculine woman!’ If theirs are 
specimens, deliver me from a masculine reason , at all 
events. I feel so outraged when I think of it all, 
that I nearly lose my temper, Sarah. And when I 
remember the thousands of women that drag on from 
year to year, toiling, yet suffering as not one of those 
doctors ever dreamed of; and when I see the long rows 
of little graves in our church-yards, and know that 
just so many little angels were pushed off the confines 
of time before their downy wings had fledged a single 
feather, all through the bungling of these 1 masculines,’ 
who in the nature of things , could not know some things 
they claimed to, as well as a woman could ; or through 
their willful hiding of the light from those who most 
needed it; all that their own purses might grow fat; 
then, dear cousin, I do feel as if my 1 soul had wings,’ 
for I feel them twitching at the bands, and beating at 
the walls about me ; yes, and let me whisper, I almost 
feel that I have fists and feet, to make those doors, 
with all their bolts and bars, resound with demands 
for entrance. Ah ! they’d take the tax they wrung 
from me last fall, and replace every splinter I had 
broken off, and talk all the while of ‘equal rights,’ 
and ‘ no taxation without representation.’ God and 
Nature are not on their side, or they would have no 
need to close their doors, as we could not come in if 
they invited us. Never mind. These doors will yet 


120 


Was it an Inheritance f 


stand open to all, for our continued knocking will so 
disturb their seclusion, that ‘ because of our importu- 
nity ’ they will arise and let us in, or build us other 
temples at whose shrines Science shall listen for the 
revelations of the Master-Builder and Repairer of 
these ‘ temples of the Holy Ghost.’” 

“ You do not mean that you expect to study in a 
medical college, and a dissecting-room ?” said Sarah. 

“ 1 certainly do.” 

“When?” 

“ I do not know ; but I have faith to believe I shall 
yet receive a diploma and practice medicine. I be- 
lieve the greatest deficiency of the profession is a want 
of discrimination in constitutions and temperaments. 
Father thinks I’m gifted there ; and going with him so 
much to nurse the sick, has been of immense advant- 
age to me ; for I have had such opportunities to ob- 
serve diseases and the effect of remedies, as a man can 
scarcely obtain in twenty years’ practice. And there 
are hundreds of women just as capable as I am, and 
as gifted as father thinks me, if they only had oppor- 
tunities for study.” 

“Well, cousin, you see the hand of man strangely 
in your way.” 

“Not so strangely, as selfishly .” 

“Well, it is the hand of man at anyrate; and so 
you bravely, and without doubt, legitimately, dare to 
oppose it ; but whose hand is it that binds me ? Who 
says to me when I would serve my race , 6 lie still and 
suffer?’ When my soul, filled with inspiration, 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


121 


speaks upon paper, what the walls of my sick-room 
forbid my voice to communicate, when I give this 
pent-up inner-self the utterance which seems essen- 
tial to its very life, who is it says, ‘ at your peril do ye 
the bidding of thy soul/ Who tortures me with long 
days of anguish, because my mind has over-wrought 
the poor, weak body, by giving birth to a thought 
worthy of utterance ? Who racks the brain and arm 
for the insignificant effort ? Ruth, there is that in my 
spirit that reaches out, longs, struggles, after great and 
good works that would bless humanity, yet, I am 
shut up to — nothing! While I would be a giver, I 
may only be a recipient — while I would be a staff, I 
am but a burden — while I would be an aid, I am but 
a load .” 

“Hush!” said Ruth, laying her hand upon Sarah's 
mouth, “who made you a judge? Would not those 
words wound the hearts of some friends if spoken in 
their presence ?” 

“Not the less are they true words. If there are 
some who imagine other things, they but deceive 
themselves. Their imaginings do not alter the fact, 
which is that I am a drag .” 

“A drag is sometimes the thing most useful. How 
high would a kite fly, for instance, if it had no drag 
attached ? The Great Aeronaut knows what kind of 
weight is best adapted to raise those who love you 
most ; and as a drag, you may be rendering them the 
highest service.” 

“ Oh, Ruth ! ” sobbed the poor girl from beneath 
6 


122 


Was it an Inheritance f 


her opened palms, “to help my friends to heaven by 
dragging them backwards! — cultivating their graces 
of patience and perseverence, by being an obstacle 
for them to overcome! Is that all lam good for — 
to be a drag instead of a staff?” 

“No! no! my dear cousin; it was not my thought. 
I know you for a great aid to myself. You thought 
yourself a burden, and I attempted to remind you 
that even in that capacity you might be quite as use- 
ful as you wished to be. A staff is that on which 
one leans in climbing, and suggests a slow and diffi- 
cult movement; but the drag of a kite causes it to 
mount, to fly, to be borne up. If your friends should 
lean on you for strength, their progress up the hea- 
venly hill must be far slower than if, attached to 
earth by strong yet yielding cords of love, and bur- 
dened with a drag of greater weight than the toiling 
pilgrim’s back could bear, they caught the currents 
of God’s holy breath with which the universe is 
filled, and soared beyond the highest height the stony 
path could ever reach. 

“ But there is a difference in these two modes of 
service. One fosters pride, — the other humility ; and 
the latter is, as those of its kind always are, the most 
efficient servant. Is there not something suggested 
In these things which you need to learn ? We all are 
Ignorant, and the Great Teacher knows what most 
we need to know. Shall we trust His choice of les- 
sons, or shall we attempt to choose for ourselves?” 

“But are they His lessons? Is it God that bids 


123 


Or, Nannie Grant . 

me smother my soul in silence? Was it not He that 
gave that soul its breath — its powers? Was it not He 
that gave its wings their restless desire for flight, in 
their very construction for it ; and is He so fiendish , 
(Fm not irreverent) as to lay His hand upon them now, 
and force them to be still? Would He with one 
hand hold my lips, to smother back the cry, and with 
the other goad me to anguish? Is not our Father 
the source of every good endeavor, and will He repay 
with pain the honest effort ?” 

“ He is the author of all law , and of the wills 
which He has left free to chose violation or obedi- 
ence; and if the first is chosen^ is His the blame if 
chaos comes again through the breach of the law of 
organization?” replied Ruth. 

“ Yet you speak of our Great Teacher as teaching 
through our afflictions.” 

“ Sarah our Teacher is our Father too; and because 
He pities us under the woes others have brought on 
us, if we take His hand we shall be led by a shorter 
route, where, though disorganization has heaped the 
way -with difficulties, the very breeze waked by the 
Furies rushing past, shall raise us to a higher strata, 
where the breath of Heaven will waft us on. 

“ We are both in the same case. Bands are laid on 
us by the wrong-doing of others, but by persevering 
in intelligent endeavors, we shall break them. True 
faith in God, such as those who search for and do 
His will, may exercise, shall remove mountains.” 

“But it seems that every strong effort of my will, 


124 


Was it an Inheritance ? 


— of any faculty, in fact, — mental or physical — gives 
me a back-set. So I am not sanguine of being able 
to break MY bonds . One week ago I wrote these 
little verses, and though I was then able to sit up 
nearly all day, I laid in bed constantly four days for 
the effort. They are weak every way, but yon may 
read them if you can. My hand trembled badly 
while I wrote. I called them 

“MY PRAYER.” 

Ruth read. 

Oh Father in the skies ! 

My weary soul 

Turns now her longing eyes 
To Heaven and Thee ; 

Grant me Thy peace ! 

For to my narrow cell 
Soft echoes come ; 

I list, and know full well 
The heavenly tone : 

Grant me Thy peace i 

Ah ! still they wake the soul 
I hush to sleep ; 

And scorning all control, 

She frantic leaps. 

Grant me Thy peace I 

And she hath in her rage 
Bruised wing and breast, 

Beating against her cage ; 

Oh, give me rest ! 

Grant me Thy peace ! 


Or , Nannie Grant 


125 


Oh ! ope’ the prison door — 

Unbind the chain— 

Let the bruised pinion soar 
All free again ! 

Grant me Thy peace I 

Or quench the spirit’s fire — 

And clip the wing — 

And quell the strong desire 
To soar and sing. 

Grant me Thy peace 1 

Ruth’s eyes rested upon the paper some moments 
after she ceased reading, in deep thoughtfulness. 

“ Sarah,” said she, at length, “ may I tell you what 
I think is the lesson the teacher is drilling you on 
now?” 

“ That is just what I most want to know.” 

“ It is, ‘ cease striving ; acquiesce in all God’s provi- 
dences; listen to the breathings of his spirit; and 
since you cannot speak them forth now, feed your own 
soul upon them ; digest, and grow thereby, and thus 
lay up a store for the day when your physical strength 
shall come.’ ” 

“Do you believe that day will ever come?” 

“ I hope so. I do not see why it may not. Be- 
cause you acquiesce in God’s will, it does not follow 
that you should cease to use all endeavor to regain 
your health. 

“Would you like to read some books on physi- 
ology ? I will lend you some, and they may be of 
service to you.” 


126 


Was it an Inheritance f 


“ Yes, I should. I can read but little, but that 
would be profitable matter.” 

“ But you are very weary now, and ought to sleep. 
Perhaps you had better get into bed for the night, 
and then I will leave you.” 

“ But will you not sleep here ? I thought it would 
seem like old times to sleep with you as I used to 
when we were little girls.” 

“ Certainly, if you wish it, but I have some mat- 
ters to attend to down-stairs. I suppose James 
has brought the milk in by this time, and I must 
strain it, and wash the pail, for Betsey is at home 
now, helping her mother during the haying; and 
mother will scarcely remember it with aunt Nannie 
to talk with.” 

After assisting the invalid to disrobe, and seeing 
her comfortable in bed, she kissed her good-night, 
washed her “ pleasant dreams,” and taking from the 
mantle the lamp she had lighted, went down to the 
kitchen. 

She was surprised to find that all the family had 
retired, aunt Nannie had returned home, the milk 
and pail were cared-for, the kittens fed, and the doors 
and windows properly secured. She looked at the 
clock and it indicated half-past nine — a full half- 
hour past bed-time. 

But Buth was not drowsy, and as Sarah did not 
expect her immediate return, she thought her pres- 
ence might make her wakeful, so she read a half-hour 


127 


Or, Nannie Grant 

longer, and then crept noiselessly to bed, where she 
found her cousin in a sound sleep. 

The morning dawned, bright and clear, and Sarah 
arose refreshed. Her sleep had been less broken by 
pain than for weeks preceding. After breakfast she 
walked home with the assistance of Euth, and Mrs. 
Grant was delighted to see her looking brighter than 
for many previous days. 

When Euth came down again at twilight to see 
how she still bore the walk, she sat in an arm-chair 
upon the piazza, looking so bright and cheerful that 
Aunt Nannie greeted her niece with, “ What did you 
do for Sarah ? She has been so smart to-day that 
Pm almost afraid she’ll have another pull-back, I 
really believe that walk did her good.” 

“ Yes, and I want another to-night,” said Sarah. 

“ Have you walked any to-day ?” 

“ Only to creep to this door twice, from the sitting- 
room, with my hands upon the wall all the way.” 

“ Let me prescribe. W alk up and down this piazza 
twice to-night, with my arm around you. Then to- 
morrow morning, walk in the same way, twice and a 
half ; as the door is in the middle, and at night, if 
you are not too tired, three times ; and so extend it 
every day. Don’t take a bit more of medicine ; you’re 
full of it now. Eat light and nourishing food, and 
just enough of it, and twice a day I’ll come and rub 
your spine gently with my hand, for half an hour.” 

“ Euth’s prescription seemed so harmless, at least,” 
Mr. Grant afterwards said, “ that we could not object, 


128 


Was it an Inheritance f 


though we had no faith in it, of course.” But it 
wrought wonders, though not applied with sufficient 
regularity to give it a fair test. 

u By the way, have you been reading your book to- 
day, Sarah ? ” 

“ Yes, a little, and the Psalms, and scribbling, too. 
Will you read my effort, or will it bore you,” said she 
taking a slip of paper from her pocket. “ Not till 
you get home, you know.” 

“ Bore me ! You naughty child, you know Pm 
ever so much pleased with it. Why not till I get 
home?” 

“ Oh, mother doesn’t know I try to write, and if 
she did I suppose she would think me sealed for early 
death, because we found those lines in Lucy’s port- 
folio. Indeed, Ruthie dear, I don’t know but you 
will think the production of such trash is enough to 
kill one, and ought to do it.” 

“ Now, Sarah Grant, I will not hear my cousin’s 
verses slandered so ! Aren’t you ashamed to talk so ?” 

This confidential chat was interrupted by the return 
of Aunt Nannie, and not till Ruth sat alone in her 
chamber did she read : 

THE ANSWER. 

Thou weary caged soul, 

Why bruise thy breast ? 

Why beat thy quivering wing ? 

Why this unrest ? 

Thy cell is truly close, 

Yet through its bars, 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


129 


Heaven’s echoes sweetly float, 

Down from the stars. 

Take thou my peace. 

I quench thy spirit’s fire ? 

1 clip thy wing ? 

I quell thy strong desire 
To soar and sing ? 

Nay ! I have lit the fire. 

And fledged the wing, 

And waked the strong desire 
To soar and sing. 

Take thou my peace. 

Wake, rest, and quiet list, 

Learn well the song, 

Let not a note be missed ; 

Repeat it long. 

Then, when thy soaring wing 
Hovers near Heaven, 

Enraptured thou shalt sing 
“Blest he my prison I ” 

This is my peace. 

“ Ah ! Sarah has caught the idea exactly. 

“ ‘ Wake, rest, and quiet list ? 

Learn well the song, 

This is my peace/ 

“ How much, I wonder, has the chafing of that 
prisoned soul shattered the walls that hold it, as well 
as ‘ bruised its wings and breast?* Can it be the inten- 
tion of Nature that spirit and body should thus destroy 
each other?” 

6 * 


130 


Was it an Inheritance? 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A TRAGEDY. 


HE next morning’s post brought a letter to Dr. 



JL Plielps, from New York. He broke the seal 
and read it, as he walked slowly towards home. It 
ran thus: 

“ Dear Uncle : — I have just received a telegram 
from a physician in Chicago, who tells me that George 
is very sick — dangerously so. I shall start at once to 
do all I can for him, and rely on you for any assist- 
ance I may need at home, if the worst comes. I 
write you now, because I suppose father is not at 
home, and mother must be prepared, or she will be 
nearly crazy. Break the news to her as gently as 

possible. I know you will. Address me at No. 

Street, if you have occasion. 


“ Your nephew, 

“ Joseph Grant.” 


“ P. S. — I neglected to say, that his disease is mania 
a potu ; but don’t tell mother, for the world. — J. G.” 

“ Lord help him!” thought Dr. Phelps. “ Mania 
a potu ! What shall I tell Nannie and Sarah ? I 


Or, Nannie Grant. 131 

wish he had not mentioned the disease. They shall 
not know it.” 

He found himself, opposite Mr. Grant’s gate and 
entered. 

“ Where is Mrs. Grant ?” he asked of Sally Baker, 
who was still a servant in the famil and who an- 
swered the ring of the door-bell. 

“ Up chaimber with Sary,” was the reply. 

“ How are they both this morning ?” 

“ Oncommon well. Sary stood the walk up to your 
house so well, she ’pears smarter sense than afore. 
But yeow’ ve got bad news, doctor ! Y eow look awful. 
Ha’n’t nothin’ the matter with Joe, is thar ?” glancing 
at the letter in his hand. 

Joe had been her favorite since the days when she 
gave him lumps from the sugar-bowl as anodyne, after 
paternal chastisement. 

“ It is a letter from Joe, but George is very sick 
Now please go up and tell Mrs. Grant that I have a 
letter from Joseph, and wish to speak with her about 
it. Do not say or do anything that will give her or 
Sarah the least alarm.” 

Sally did as directed, with a countenance as impas- 
sive as stone; and Mrs. Grant came immediately 
down. 

“ How is Sarah, this morning? I was passing and 
thought I would just drop in and see. Is she up 
yet?” 

“ Yes; she was about coming down, but I thought 
I would not keep you waiting while I assisted her. 


132 


Was it an Inheritance f 


You know it takes some time and she began to 
scrutinize his face. The two families were on the 
most intimate terms, yet it was extremely unusual for 
the doctor to call at this hour, unless professionally. 

“ I have a letter from J oseph, this morning.” 

“ What is the matter with him ? something you 
wish to conceal. He is sick ?” 

“ He is very well, and has gone on a journey west.” 

“ Then George is sick ? Te^l me, brother, at once.” 

“ Yes ; George is sick, and Joe has gone to nurse 
and care for him.” 

“ He will die !” said she, sinking into a chair, and 
covering her face with both hands. 

“ Oh ! do not give up so quickly. ‘ While there is 
life, there is hope/ and he may not be so very ill.” 

“ But he will die ! doctor, I know he will ! I feel 
it. In the depths of my soul, I am as certain as if it 
was all over ! Yes, he will die ! He will die ! I 
shall never see his face again !” 

“ And, if he should die, Nannie, is it not in your 
heart to say ‘ Thy will be done ?’ ” 

“ But he is not a Christian !” said she, turning her 
tearful eyes full upon him. “ He is a wicked boy ! 
He was never regenerated; and I’ve prayed, and 
prayed, and prayed for him !” 

“The sword of the Spirit” is now severing the 
Gordian knot of “the prayer-guage,” through the 
prayers of women, who wait together till they “ re- 
ceive power from on high” — from “the coming of 
the Holy Ghost,” which maketh them “witnesses unto 


O, Nannie Grant . 133 

Christ,” “unto the uttermost parts of the earth.” “A 
cloud received Him,” and “ He shall so return.” 

From all over the earth the Heaven-attracted 
waters climb the sunbeams, and are gathered, and 
hung above our heads, and purified, and electrified by 
the rays of the great luminary that called them up, 
till the Earth hungers and thirsts for their return, 
which comes with bountiful blessings. So the influ- 
ence of the Divine Son calls up the exhalations of 
our souls in affectionate worship, and they are gath- 
ered, purified, electrified, and vivified in his immedi- 
ate presence, till our whole beings hunger and thirst 
for righteousness ; when these same aspirations we 
have sent aloft return to vivify and consecrate our 
entire being — the hand , the foot, the judgment and 
the intellect as well as the heart ; and this is the secret 
of “ The Woman’s Temperance Movement,” which 
commenced in the fall of 1873. “ It is the Lord’s 
work, and it is marvelous in our eyes” 

Dr. Phelps thought, “had ,you, my poor sister, 
wrought more sensibly, as well as prayed — had your 
hand and head prayed with your heart, you might 
not now have been making this lamentation;” but 
he did not say so. 

He tried to soothe her, but to no purpose. She 
would listen to no consolation, but groaning and 
moaning exclaimed, “he will die! he will die! Oh, 
God ! that my child should die unregenerated !” and 
she passed from one paroxysm of hysterics to another. 
The doctor administered what remedies he could, and 


134 


Was it an Inheritance f 


then left her in Sally’s care, while he went to Sarah’s 
room. He found her lying upon her bed, very pale 
and still, for she had heard her mother’s sobs and 
exclamations. A brief explanation was all that was 
necessary. 

“It is a disease of the nerves,” said he, “and such 
maladies are very uncertain. He may be apparently 
near death now, and yet outlive us all. Ho not get 
up, nor be alarmed about your mother. It is only 
hysteria, and she seems to suffer much more than she 
really does. I will send Ruth to sit with vou to- 
day.” 

Hear, good, honest doctor! How could he know 
what hysterical women suffered , though he might be 
able to judge of the danger attending that suffering ? 

Mrs. Phelps and Ruth spent almost their entire 
time in that house of affliction during several sub- 
sequent days. 

At length a letter came from Joe’s employer, for 
the magnetic telegraph was then a new institution ; 

and as but few lines had been erected, L was not 

directly accessible by means of it. Only a few words 
were written. Joe had found his brother living, but 
near his last. George had suffered much, but the 
pain was over now. Would start home in a few 
hours, bringing the coffined body. A few words of 
condolence. That was all. 

Joe had taken passage on the first railroad train 
from Hew York to Buffalo, which was then the most 
westerly city of the United States accessible by rail. 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


135 


From thence he took steamboat: but fifteen miles per 
hour was then the maximum speed of the fastest line. 
“Oh for the wings of the wind!” thought the impa- 
tient young man. “George must have some friends 
there by this time, but will they stand by him in his 
sore need ?” 

At last he was driving through the streets of the 
city in search of his hotel, for in the few years since 
our friend located there, the village had become a 
bustling city. He leaned back in the carriage, and 
tried to prepare himself for whatever might await 
him; but, alas! how could he? He saw his brother 
laid cold and stiff, with eyes closed, and hands folded 
peacefully; then above this would rise another pic- 
ture — a convalescent, smiling and hopeful ; and he 
fancied he heard him say, “ Too bad to fool you so, 
old fellow, but I didn’t want to die just yet;” and 
he rehearsed for the fiftieth time, a lecture he de- 
signed to give him, to close with George’s taking a 
solemn pledge to henceforth be as abstinent as Ruth 
or uncle Phelps could desire. Then came again the 
fearful words written by the physician — “ In immi- 
nent danger. Make haste;” and again the rigid form 
seemed before him. Suspense had been such torture 
that he thought the reality, be it what it might, 
would be a relief. 

The carriage arrived at its destination, he flung his 
fee to the driver, and rushed into the office, and 
inquiring for George Grant, was informed that he 


136 Was it an Inheritance f 

was too ill to see any one. Blessed relief! He was 
still alive. 

“ But I am his brother, and must see him at once.” 

“ Ah ! well, please register your name.” 

Joe did as required, but never wrote more illegibly. 

“ Waiter, show this gentleman to number ninety.” 

How that waiter lagged ! What tardy feet were 
his ! At length number ninety was reached, and Joe 
attempted to open the door. It was locked. 

“ No use to rap,” said the boy. “ They keeps it 
locked mose of the time, else the young fellah might 
hurt somebody. Less see ! Guess they hain’t un- 
locked it yit this mornin.” 

“What? They do not lock him in this room 
alone all night, sick as he is?” 

“ Oh ! no, sah. They is a nuss in thar.” 

“ Then why don’t he open the door?” and Joe, 
impatient of delay, turned the knob vigorously. He 
heard a loud voice inside, but still the lock was not 
turned. 

“Guess he can’t. We keep the key in the office 
fur the doctor. I’ll go back and git it.” 

He shuffled back, but at the foot of the first flight 
of stairs met the physician, who carried the key in 
his hand. The waiter ran half-way up the stairs and 
bawled out, “the doctor is commin,” and then 
dropping himself from one step to another, and jerk- 
ing the words out by this succession of short falls, 
said, “ that’s the crazy one’s brother up thar, doctor.” 

Thus introduced the physician bowed to the impa- 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


137 


tient and somewhat incensed young man, who asked, 
“ how is this, doctor? You do not lock my brother 
in here alone, and he so ill ? ” 

“ Certainly not, for one moment ; but he is so vio- 
lent at times that we take the key to the office, lest 
he should take it from the nurse by force, and get out 
and injure himself or others. 

“ It is now very early, you will recollect, not yet 
seven o’clock. You arrived this morning?” 

“ Yes, but night and day are alike to me now, and 
I had forgotten how early it is.” 

The key turned the bolt, and the medical man en- 
tered, followed closely by Joe. 

“Hie! Doctor! Here he is! Take him!” shouted 
the maniac, who stood in the middle of the floor, 
and horror of horrors ; the dismembered head of the 
nurse trundled along the carpet and struck the doc- 
tor’s foot. 

“ See ! he’s in a hurry to meet you ! He told me 
you’d come, and so you have ; and he’s so glad to see 
you that he’s fainted for joy. Why don’t you help 
him up ? I’ve done it ever so many times, but he 
won’t stand for me. I reckon you’ll think I’m a 
bloody Indian, and if I was to go to Niantick, look- 
ing this way,” (turning his bloody hands over) “they’d 
take me for a brother red-skin. I’ve got the best 
tomahawk out,” snatching his stained pocket-knife 
from the table. “ Took off Sam’s head kind o’ nice 
any way. Small tools take a mighty long time 
though. Hello ! That’s Joe ! I told you so ! I guess 


138 


Was it an Inheritance f 


I know, and I’m not slow ! I want to go. Take me 

in tow ! i Wait till Fm well ? ’ Doctor, go to ! 

You’re just a sell. Fm ever so well! Go toll the 
bell, for Samuel. Put him to bed; he’s hurt his 
head, and just been bled, now let him be fed ; because 
you’ve tied his hands so tight he couldn’t feed him- 
self. 

“ Ho ! fire ! fire !” His eyes glared, his face was 
pale, his lips livid, his whole frame shook with fear, 
as he pointed with his bloody fingers to a corner of 
the room near the door, and crouched in an opposite 
direction. 

A bell-pull hung just beside the door, and the doc- 
tor had given it several vigorous jerks, immediately 
on seeing the condition of affairs in the room, and four 
strong men now made their appearance. 

“Fire! fire!” shouted the poor wretch, u fire ! I 
say fire ! don’t you see it ? Doctor, you’ll get on 
fire! Joe! come away! come away ! 

“ Ha ! it’s h — l-fire ! It won’t catch you, Joe, 
you’re too good for it. Iron-clad ! It won’t touch 
you — too hard-shelled ! 

“ But here it is ! here it is /” (catching at his bloody 
sleeves, and with clenched teeth, stripping them from 
his arms in shreds.) “ You grinning imps you ! 
Why didn’t you stay over there, and not bring your 
blasted fire this way? Oh ! oh ! oh !” and his shrieks 
rang through the entire house. 

“Take ’em off! take ’em off! I’m choking to 
death ! Quick ! Quick ! here ! there ! quick ! Oh ! 


139 


Or, Nannie Grant 

But aren’t those serpents quick ! They’ve got the 
very old Nick in ’em. Take ’em off! take ’em off ! 
take ’em o-f-f ! ! There they go ! There they go ! 
Ah ! J oe you always was a good fellow. 

" Don’t tell the old folks I swore. I didn’t. It 
was the evil spirit I swallowed last night ; he’d a’ 
choked me fcfdeath if I hadn’t swallowed him. Once 
in a while he swears up through my throat, but I 
can’t help it. I try to keep him still sometimes, and 
then he chokes me a’most to death. 

“ Give me some brandy or whisky, double distilled ! 
Quick ! Quick ! Whisky ! Whisky ! You’re a 
darling doctor ! yes, you are. Mother’d say i wine, 
wine , a little wine won’t hurt you, my boy, if you 
never take anything stronger.’ 

“Yes, when the baby has set the house a-fire 
with its fire-crackers, and the walls are crashing in 
upon it, just try a little moral suasion , and say, i fire- 
crackers ! baby, fire-crackers ! Never burn anything 
but fire-crackers, never burn houses /’ Wasn’t it the 
fire-crackers that set the house on fire ? and wasn’t it 
father’s nice wine that set my blood and nerves on 
fire ? Yes, and its hell -fire ! Yes, mother, mother , 
mother, it is, it is ! 

“ Why didn’t ye bring Uncle Phelps along, Joe? 
He told me the truth, ‘ Wine is a mocker,’ and ye 
see now how strong drink rages. I tell you now, 
Uncle Phelps knows something , but this doctor is a 
fool ! Dill Stewart? Ah ! she ought to be here, to 
see how nice she read me out. But I’m glad she a’n’t. 


140 


Was it an Inheritance? 


She’d be safe enough though. This fire never’d touch 
her. Not even the tip-edge of her dress-skirt. 

“ Don’t tell mother how I’ve been talking about 
her } though it’s the truth. 

“ She prayed for me hard, all the time, while she 
was putting God’s curse down my throat and into my 
bones. 

“ Father would sit at table, and ask God to bless 
this very evil spirit that’s now eating my vitals up, 
sitting down there, gnawing away at my stomach, and 
waiting for a good chance to catch me by the throat, 
and then I could never shake him off. never, 
NEVER ! 

“ The old man’s tougher than I am, and he has 
lived it through, but I couldn’t. The devil didn’t 
get so tight a grip on him, but he gave me a part of 
his old subtility himself is in the grain , and that sold 
me out to the one they tempted me to swallow. ‘In 
moderation!’ I tell you I couldn’t help it. After 
those spirits got together once, they made the bargain 
without asking me. 

“Father meant well, and so did mother, and I 
don’t blaitie them ; but I only say they were deuced 
blind. They liked the drink, and they drank it, and 
gave it to me when I could just toddle about the table, 
and sat in my high chair, ( nice wine that wouldn’t hurt 
anybody ’ and now I have to suffer for their sins and 
mine too, and it ain’t fair ! It is not fair !” 

He sank down* and the men took him from his 
crouching position upon the carpet, and laying him 


Or, Nannie Grant 


141 


upon the bed, tied him fast to the bedstead ; cords 
about his body, and each hand and foot extended. 

Before he was entirely secured, the mania again re- 
turned, and again he cursed in the most terrible 
terms, and raved fearfully. 

His imprecations upon himself were appalling, and 
he cursed the doctor and his assistants, and begged 
Joe to bring Uncle Phelps. “Why didn’t mother 
send him. She ought to have known I would want 
him. This doctor is a cussed fool, and don’t know 
anything. Mother / motiier ! they have tied me fast, 
and the goblins are picking my bones and piercing my 
heart!” He made a desperate effort to rise, fell back 
again, and all was over. 

We will not follow the stricken brother on his 
homeward journey, where he arrived with his burden 
at noon-day, and saddened the whole village by the 
spectacle. 

Scores of young men were among the throng that 
attended the obsequies on the following day, and six 
of them bore all that remained of their former asso- 
ciate, from the church to the little cemetery on the 
outskirts of the village; but Dan Stewart was not 
one of them. The words of his now-distant sister, 
pierced his heart so deeply, that they palsied his arm 
with the weakness of an infant. “ That boy was quite 
recently a very intimate and dear friend of yours. 
Which has suffered by the association? I suppose 
it must be the weaker and Daniel had always prided 
himself upon his chivalrous spirit. 


142 


Was it an Inheritance? 


Mrs. Grant was completely overwhelmed, and, as 
usual, her feelings were uncontrolled, while her hus- 
band, though less demonstrative, was inconsolable. 
George had been his favorite son. For him he had 
anticipated great success in life. Though a member 
of a Christian church, he seemed to esteem religious 
and church duties as quite distinct from worldly and 
political duties. Like many other public men, he had 
one conscience for Sabbath and private matters, and 
quite another for matters of a wider range; and a 
distinct and different basis underlaid each. His piety 
and politics neither collided nor took counsel together, 
for they never took cognizance of each other’s exist- 
ence at all, and notwithstanding his son’s irregulari- 
ties were displeasing to him, he still thought them the 
“ sowing of wild oats,” and that George would, event- 
ually, “ turn out all right since he had not yet trans- 
gressed the laws of that worldly conscience. 

The Hon. William Grant, at sixty, was, in many 
respects, a very different man to “ Willie Grant” at 
twenty-five. 

At the earlier period, he was also ambitious and 
calculating, but he had warm sympathies, and genu- 
ine, though never ardent, affections. These qualities 
had been greatly modified by the disproportion of 
their developments ; the former seeming to over-ride 
the latter. Yet, though he seldom manifested much 
affection, there could be no doubt of the depth and 
genuineness of his bereavement in the death of his 
son. How much remorse may have added to the 


Or , Nannie Grant. 


143 


poignancy of his affliction, can only be conjectured ; 
but though he knew well the disease that had be- 
reaved him (which his wife did not), the ruby cup 
still held its place upon his table and side-board, 
where they had been replaced after George left home ; 
and that father, whose heart still bled for the loss of 
one son slain, did not refrain from proffering the 
cup to his others. 

“ William,” Nannie ventured to say one day, 
“hadn't you better not offer the wine to Joe? He 
never takes it now, and I notice that he looks sick 
and pale whenever you pass it to him. He never 
mentions it, but I really believe it makes him sick to 
smell it.” 

“ Oh, mother ! that's just a whim. Joe turn sick 
and pale at the smell of wine, when he has always 
been used to it from infancy ?” 

“Well, observe him, and talk to him about it to- 
day, and see if I am mistaken.” 

He did observe, and when the wine was passed, 
the young man not only declined it, but arose and 
left the table, making some trivial excuse to with- 
draw from the room. 

After dinner, Mr. Grant found him upon the 
piazza. 

“ My son, I want you to tell me why you refuse to 
drink wine with me,” said the parent. 

“ Father,” (fixing his great, earnest eyes upon Mr. 
Grant's face,) “if you had stood with me beside 
George, and heard his awful ravings about serpents, 


144 


Was it an Inheritance f 


devils, and hell-fire, whiskey, brandy, and wine ; if 
you had heard him shriek as I did — Uncle Phelps 
was right! ‘Wine is a mocker !’ if you had heard 
him say, ‘Father would sit there and ask God to 
bless this very devil that is now eating my vitals up ; 
the old man is tougher than I am ; he has lived it 
through, but I couldn’t. The devil didn’t get so 
tight a grip on him. Father meant well, and so did 
mother, and I don’t blame them, but I say that they 
were deuced blind. They liked the drink and they 
drank it, and gave it to me when I could just toddle 
about the floor — nice wine that wouldn’t hurt anybody 
— and now I’ve got to suffer for their sins and mine too ; 
and it ain’t fair, it ain’t fair.’ If you had heard all 
this, father, and then seen him die as I did, all cov- 
ered with the blood he had spilled in his maniac un- 
accountability ; and the headless trunk of the man 
whom our George had murdered and mutilated in 
such a horrible manner, lying upon the floor — and 
the severed head lying under the window, with its 
eyes staring upward, as if calling for vengeance on 
somebody , (and I’m sure poor crazy brother was not 
guilty of murder then:) if you had seen all these 
things, and heard these things, you could never see 
wine, nor smell it, nor hear of it, without seeing and 
hearing the whole of it over again ; and it is enough 
to make a man afraid of the drink. No, father, I 
can’t drink wine with you, and if you can drink it 
yourself again, or at any rate offer it again to a child 
of yours, you are not the man I take you to be.” 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


145 


Mr. Grant walked away into the garden without a 
word, and for more than an hour continued to pace 
up and down the graveled walks, his hands crossed 
behind him, and his eyes bent on the ground. 

Joe had revealed many things of which he was 
before ignorant, and he saw his own accountability 
under a glimmering of new light. During the suc- 
ceeding forty-eight hours, he took no wine or alco- 
holic liquors, and found, to his surprise, that his own 
nervous system labored under a strong craving for 
their stimulating effects, but, though they were hence- 
forth banished from the family board, he took his 
regular potation in the privacy of his own apartment. 

The reader may recollect Mrs. Grant's earnest wish 
to know the whereabouts of her “poor boy," ex- 
pressed as she stood supporting her invalid daughter, 
while en route for the residence of “ Aunt Mollie," 
and an explanation is due. A few weeks previous 
to the melancholy events just narrated, Seth Grant, 
in a state of intoxication, had been guilty of an act 
which the law recognized as a misdemeanor. On the 
following morning his father upbraided him for the 
vice which himself had planted and fostered ; and 
Seth, with tongue more at his command than on the 
previous evening, though his head seemed a choas of 
mingled pain and confusion, had plainly told him so. 

“ Leave my house at once !" said the enraged 
father, “ and take your disgrace along with you, and 
never bring it back to me. If you had a soul above 
a beast, you would govern your appetite !” 

7 


146 


Was it an Inheritance f 


“ I will go, sir, and never trouble you with the sight 
of your work again,” said the boy; and though not 
yet eighteen years old, left to return no more. Anger 
seared the father’s heart, but death would have 
seemed less cruel to the mother; and had she but 
known how George died, she must indeed have cried, 
“ my troubles are greater than I can bear.” 

But the fearful facts Joe had discovered to his 
father, were kindly concealed from her, and she only 
knew that he had died of some disease of the nerves. 

“Joe!” said she, “ did not your brother ask for 
me ? Did he not mention his mother ?” 

“ Yes, he spoke of you often, and of father, and of 
Uncle Phelps, who he was sure could cure him ; but 
he was mistaken. No earthly power could have 
saved him. He called mother ! mother ! almost the 
last words he said.” 

“ Did he send love to me, and say he wanted to 
see me ?” 

“ Mother, he was not in his right mind. He was 
raving all the time, and I was so excited, that I can- 
not tell you all he said.” 

“No wonder! poor child! It must have been 
fearful for you ; and with no friend near to sympa- 
thize. 

“ Do you think he knew he was going to die ?” 

“Oh, no. Almost the last words he said were 
about being cured.” 

“ And he went into eternity unprepared ! Oh, 
merciful Father ! ” 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


147 


Then it was that Sarah learned that she was indeed 
a ‘ staff ' to one poor soul. And Joe, too, found in 
her presence a calmness he could not find elsewhere ; 
but he was obliged, at the expiration of one week's 
visit at home, to return to his duties in New York. 

Though the loss of her sons seemed almost to 
overwhelm Mrs. Grant, she was destined to feel the 
floods of grief rise to a still higher tide. "When the 
billows of affliction heave and toss our fragile barque, 
we cry out, “ The deeps will swallow us up ! ” but 
when the watery blackness overhead stoops down to 
meet the waters that rise from the depths to smite 
their dusky cheeks, and the boiling, seething element 
of destruction sweeps over our frail decks, carrying 
away the sails and masts in which we trusted, and 
among which clung the echoes of the strains the 
zephyrs chanted, long ago; aye, and even the rudder, 
to which our hands have clung in desperation, is 
wrenched from their grasp ; then the soul sits still — 
by terror hushed to dumbness. 

“I do believe I am the most afflicted woman in 
the world," said Nannie, as she and her daughter 
were alone one afternoon. A long silence had pre- 
ceded this remark. Sarah had been reading, and 
her mother, reclining upon the sofa, conning over her 
afflictions — thinking of her dead son, and of him 
who was a wanderer, and though but a boy, and pecu- 
liarly in need of guidance and sympathy, fatherless, 
motherless, homeless, and friendless — and she might 


148 


Was it an Inheritance f 


look for death sooner than the yielding of the will of 
either husband or son. 

“ I have no evidence that George was prepared to 
die/’ she resumed, “yet he had many good qualities, 
and not a bad heart , ” (what mother ever thought her 
son had, and can it be because she knows him best?) 
“He is in the hands of a merciful father. But Seth, 
my youngest, my baby so long! Poor boy! Poor 
boy! If I only knew that he was doing right! To 
think that he should be a drunkard at eighteen ! Oh, 
it is dreadful ! When I begged him to stay, I know 
he only wanted to see his father soften towards him, 
for he never could bear to have me feel bad. If I 
only could see that it was for good ! ” 

“We cannot see , but I suppose we ought to be- 
lieve” said Sarah. “You know the Bible says ‘all 
things shall work together for good to them that love 
the Lord Jesus.’ ” 

“ Ah ! Sarah, that is it , — to those that love the Lord 
Jems . My greatest grief for Seth is, that he does 
not love the Lord : if he did he would be here.” 


Or, Nannie Grant 


149 


CHAPTER IX. 

WHAT IS HER PLACE? 

A BOUT six months after the events recorded in 
the chapter just closed, Mr. Grant entered his 
house one day shortly after the arrival of the mor- 
ning’s mail, with a quick step and an excited man- 
ner. 

“ Where is mother?” he asked of old Sally, who 
sat in the dining-room, knitting. 

“ I reckon she’s in Sary’s room as common.” 

Sarah was now the last of the flock left at home, 
and her immediate presence seemed indispensable to 
both her parents. Her room had become the sitting- 
room of the small household, and she a constant 
companion to her mother, whose troubles were 
making rapid inroads upon the beauty of her person 
and the elasticity of her spirits. Entering the room, 
and approaching the sofa on which his wife was 
reclining, as had become her habit, Mr. Grant seated 
himself beside it. 

“Do you feel quite strong to-day, Nannie?” 
“About as usual, William. But why do you ask? 
Tell me, what is it ?” as he hesitated to reply. “ Have 
you heard from Seth?” 


150 


Was it an Inheritance? 


“I have a letter addressed to you, which I sup- 
pose to be from him. May I read it first? You 
know you are so nervous; I fear its effect upon 
* you.” 

She arose in a calm dignity quite new to her, and 
extending her hand said, “ I will read it to you.” 

“ But you don’t know what news it contains. Are 
you sure you are strong enough ?” 

“ I am strong enough to read a letter from my son.” 

He gave it to her. She broke the seal and read. 

“My dear mother: I have never written those 
words before. Whenever I have made use of them, 
I have seen the answering smile upon your face. I 
cannot see it to-day, and I fear that when you read 
this letter, tears will be there instead, but I hope 
not. I should be far happier if I could feel certain 
that I am not making you unhappy. 

“When I left home I scarcely knew which direc- 
tion to take. 

“ Perhaps I was wrong ; I know I was, but when 
father, with his years, in which he ought to have 
learned wisdom, told me to go, and abused me so, I 
could not do otherwise than leave. I traveled as 
economically as possible, while my money lasted, and 
then I did chores for the farmers along the way to 
pay for my lodgings and meals, till I came to this 
place, where I found Cousin Mary and her family, 
well and happy. 

“ I had forgotten that they had moved to Ohio till 
I accidentally met Mr. Gilbert on the street. I knew 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


151 


him immediately, but was surprised that he should 
recognize me, for my clothes did not look very nice 
after my long tramp. 

“He would have me go home with him, and I 
stayed there some time. 

“ They have five as nice boys as I ever saw, and it 
made me think of old times when I saw how happy 
they were together. And now, mother, I don’t want 
what I am going to write should make you feel bad, 
but I am some afraid it will. 

“I have enlisted in the army, for the war with 
Mexico. I’ve got a good captain and a good colo- 
nel, and there’s a good set of fellows in the company. 
I don’t suppose many of them are the sons of Con- 
gressmen, as I am, but they have good, kind hearts, 
and that you and I think quite as good ; at any rate 
7 do. 

“I should like to tell you my regiment and com- 
pany, but as I am a minor I had rather father should 
not know them. I don’t lay up any hardness against 
father, but I can’t think it was just the fair thing to 
teach a boy to drink, and then to be so lordly over 
him if he happened to take enough to make him 
mischievous. I didn’t do so much worse than the 
other boys. There was Jim, and Hank, and Sam, 
and Jake ; why we couldn’t any of us stand a quart, 
as our fathers can. I don’t know whose fault it was, 
I’m sure. But don’t worry about me, mother. I 
can’t get drunk while I’m in the army, at any rate ; 
and I shall have a plenty to eat, and clothes to wear, 


152 


IFas it an Inheritance f 


and if I’m wounded I shall be taken care of, ana 
get a pension afterwards ; and if I’m killed — why 
that’ll be the end of me for this world. Please do 
not worry about me, mother, I shall do well, get 
promoted, and come home — ” 

The last three words were crossed out repeatedly, 
with the evident intention of obliterating them en- 
tirely. 

“ I do not know where to tell you to direct to me, 
as we leave here for the field in two days. I should 
be more glad than I ever was before in my life, if I 
could get a letter from you, for you did not tell me 
to go; and I am sorry every day of my life for what 
I know you suffer on my account, but I can’t help it 
now, you know. I will write you again as soon as 
I can. Give my love to poor sick Sis, and anybody 
else that wants it. 

“I am, as I ever shall be, your affectionate, 

“Seth.” 

Mrs. Grant lay down again upon the sofa, folded 
her hands tightly, and closed her eyes. Her husband 
looked at her in amazement. 

Slowly the tears gathered under her eyelids, and 
dropped from her face. 

He approached her quietly, and gently wiping the 
tears away with his hand, bent down and kissed her 
lips. 

Instantly her eyes opened, the shadow of a smile 
flitted behind their brimming tears, faint as a lunar 
rainbow, and then they closed again. 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


153 


“ I must go,” said the husband, and he patted the 
cheek of his sick girl as he passed the couch, and left 
the room, brushing his eyes with the back of his 
hand. Passing through the room where Sally sat, 
he said, “Better go up-stairs to Mrs. Grant and 
Sarah. They may need you,” and left the house. 

He proceeded at once to his office, entered his pri- 
vate-room, seated himself at his desk and wrote : 

U L , January 12th, 184 

“My Deab Son: — Your letter to your mother 
has just arrived, and she has read it to me. If by 
any honorable means you can procure a discharge 
from the service of your country, come directly home; 
and be sure of a hearty welcome. If you should be 
inclined to do this, it would be necessary for me to 
take the legal steps, as you seem to be aware. You 
are right, my son, your father’s years should have 
given him wisdom, but ■” 

“ Is Mr. Grant in ?” It was the voice of the vil- 
lage pastor, with whom Mr. Grant had an engagement 
to ride that morning, and as the mail did not leave 
again till evening, and they expected to return in a 
few hours at farthest, the letter could then be com- 
pleted. He accordingly signified his readiness to go, 
at once, and the two gentlemen were soon seated in 
the sleigh, nicely wrapped from the cold, and their 
bells jingling away over the hills. 

The morning was fine, and the sleighing was never 
7 * 


154 


Was it an Inheritance f 


better. The horse was antic at first, the keen air and 
bells, appearing to be quite exhilarating to him, but 
he soon became steady and trotted along with his 
usual docility. 

The conversation was, for some time, quite frag- 
mentary ; turning upon various subjects. Mr. Grant 
appeared, as the minister thought, preoccupied in 
mind, till he remarked, “ This is the horse your sou 
once owned, is it not?” 

“Yes,” replied Mr. Grant, “I was just thinking 
so, and that this is the first time I have ridden after 
him, since the accident occurred to my son.” 

“ Do you think him unsafe ?” 

“ Not exactly unsafe , perhaps ; yet, when a horse 
once becomes thoroughly frightened, so much so as to 
break from the control of his driver, especially when 
such a general ‘smash-up* occurs, as did in that in- 
stance, I think the animal scarcely as reliable as 
formerly. 

“ I have not cared to think of my boys very often 
of late. Indeed, I haven’t a child to build my hopes 
on. George and Seth have turned out very different 
from what I had hoped. William seems to have 
abandoned his parents; one would think he must care 
little for them, when he cannot visit them, once in 
twelve years, and yet, be so near as he often is. Joe, 
though apparently steady, I have never expected any- 
thing great from. He is too good-looking. His, 
will never be a leading mind . 

“ Girls are not the stuff to build hopes or ambitions 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


155 


on; and, if they were, Abbie is buried in some 
western forest, and, I fear, is rearing a family in 
ignorance; Lucy is gone, and Sarah a confirmed 
invalid. 

“ She sometimes imagines some great ( mission ’ is 
before her, which she could perform, if she only had 
health ; but she is only a woman after all, and these 
c inspirations’ are little else than chimera — the off- 
spring of a brain excited by disease, and withdrawn 
from the usual sphere of woman’s labor.” 

“ You seem to entertain a low estimate of women, 
Mr. Grant ; ” said the parson. “ They are coming 
up though. There is Margaret Fuller, who since 
1839 has conducted those remarkable “ conversa- 
tions” of hers, with an ability that augurs much 
for the advancement of women intellectually.” 

“ What are these < conversations ? ’ I am ignorant 
of them.” 

“Ah! Is it possible? They’re the best educa- 
tional instrument in Boston, for women. Her aims 
as nearly as I can recollect her explanation, and I have 
tried to commit it to memory, are ‘ to pass in review 
the departments of thought and knowledge, and en- 
deavor to place them in due relation to one another in 
their minds, (that is, the minds of her class.) To sys- 
tematize thought, and give a precision and clearness,' 
in which the sex are deficient, chiefly, (she thinks), 
because they have so few inducements to test, and 
classify what they receive. To ascertain what pur- 
suits are best suited to them, in our time and state of 


156 


Was it an Inheritance f 


society, and how they may make best use of their 
means for building up the life of thought upon the 
life of action/ And then her able editing of i The 
Dial/ whose contributors are Emmerson, Alcott, Theo. 
Parker, Thoreau, Bipley, Hedge, Clark, and W. H. 
Channing ; men of marked ability, of whom America 
will yet be proud. Have you seen her 6 Summer on 
the Lakes/ ” 

Mr. Grant shook his head. “ It might give you 
some idea of the influences by which your daughter 
Abbie is surrounded, and among which your grand- 
children are being reared. 

“For two years past Miss Fuller has been the lit- 
erary critic of the New York Tribune” 

“Is it possible?” said Mr. Grant. “That is a 
position of some importance.” 

“Certainly! Both possible and true. There you 
see, is woman as author, managing-editor, critic, teacher. 
Surely these are positions that require abilities such 
as ‘ one might build hopes or ambitions on/ 

“ Then I might mention Mrs. Emma Willard as 
an educator, Mrs. Mott, as a reformer, and indeed, 
the whole company of women-reformers, who were 
refused seats in the ‘ World’s Anti-Slavery Conven- 
tion/ recently held in London, to which they had 
been sent as delegates. 

“ Those women traveled three thousand miles to 
join in labors for the overthrow of a system of slavery 
founded on complexion, and were not allowed to rep- 
resent the societies that sent them, and solely because 


Or, Nannie Grant. 157 

they were women. Of course they discovered that they 
were 1 shackled ’ because of physical conditions for 
which they were no more responsible than the black 
man is for the color of his skin. 

“ Not all men are ‘made of such stuff as one should 

build hopes and ambitions on ; 7 but let Mrs. S , 

for instance, have enjoyed such advantages of College, 
University, and Law-school, as her father had, and 
she would have far outstripped his achievements; 
and Mrs. Mott, from all reports, has among men, 
few superiors in intellectual penetration, in clearness 
and soundness of logic, and certainly none in recti- 
tude of principle and purity of heart and life. If 
the avenues of culture and promotion lay open to her 
as to men, a few years would take her to a lofty and 
enviable eminence.” 

“ She may be gifted and good, but I tell you I do 
not like these masculine women ! If women attain 
great intellectual stature, they seem to lose their sweet, 
winning ways. Nature is just, and will not allow 
them to appropriate our gifts and retain their own 
graces. Now I admit that, as a class, men are the 
inferiors of women in physical beauty, in grace of 
person and manner, and in moral qualities also. A 
handsome man is almost always weak-minded .” 

“ Do not spoil the argument on account of present 
company,” said Rev. Mr. Wilson, “and where he is 
religious he is effeminate. (I do but supply the 
words for you.) Ha ! ha ! ha !” 


158 


Was it an Inheritance f 


Mr. Grant laughed, but did not disown the 
thought. 

“Then,” added the minister, “beauty and grace 
imply weakness ; and strength implies coarseness and 
immorality. Do you accept these conditions as the 
intentions of the Creator?” 

“Well, they seem to be the facts, as they exist, 
and I infer, from their existence, that He intended 
they should be so.” 

“ That is getting on too fast. Many vices seem to 
be inherent in the constitutions of certain people, yet 
we are not to suppose they are of God’s ordering, but 
are what would-be virtues, if developed to a normal 
degree ? Strength and beauty are equally and neces- 
sarily elements of physical, and certainly of mental per- 
fection ; if strength is incompatible with beauty, in the 
feminine mind, then, grace and symmetry must also 
be incompatible with strength, in the masculine mind ; 
and so mental strength and beauty are absolutely in- 
compatible in the same soul , though vital elements of 
perfection . Then, if you believe in the possible per- 
fection of human souls, in any period of their exist- 
ence, you must believe in their duality . This is the 
inevitable conclusion, from the assumption of your 
premises; and no soul can be saved, or indeed be 
called a soul, independent of its counterpart. Are 
you ready to adopt these conclusions ?” 

“No; not exactly; for I do not see but souls may 
be perfect, and yet different .” 

“ In their essential elements f Then how can they 


159 


Or, Nannie Grant. 

be said to have been made in the image of God? and 
which bears that image, the male or the female? — the 
one that possesses strength? or the one that possesses 
beauty, loveliness? (I assume your premises regard- 
ing these, you recollect;) or is God a duad? If so, 
where is his counterpart?” 

“Do you not preach that He is a union of 
persons?” 

“Yes; but three; and if I were to designate their 
correspondences in the human soul, I should say in- 
tellect, sensibility and will; or thought, emotion and 
action; and these you will readily admit, are alike 
common to male and female. 

“Now, when you would confine women to the 
sphere they have formerly occupied, because, as you 
think, ‘when they attain the intellectual stature of 
men, they lose those sweet, winning ways, we so much 
admire in them/ I think you do them an injustice. 

“ You have acquired standing among men. You 
are not the man you were forty years ago. Your 
judgment is calmer ; your intellectual faculties more 
at your command ; your reasoning clearer ; yet, your 
affections are not so warm, your sympathies so 
prompt and keen, though they may, at the same time, 
be deeper , and more efficient. 

“ You are improved in many qualities, which your 
grand-child would fail to recognize, because seeking 
in you, as appreciable by himself, the manifestation of 
the very qualities, which the culture and experience 
of years have taught another mode of expression. 


160 


Was it an Inher itance f 


Now, take a sensitive young girl, full of all womanly 
sweetness; and with these excellencies, let her be 
endowed with intellectual powers, which, given an 
opportunity to develop, would fit her for any of the 
professions, or for a prominent position in the State, 
if you please. 

“ Shut in by the adamantine walls of custom, with 
no room for either growth or development, except the 
domestic sphere, where we have been endeavoring to 
keep her, whether she showed capacity beyond, or for 
that sphere or not, what can those faculties do that 
demand other fields for their full expansion, except 
to turn and grow inward, and destroy their source ; or 
develop into monstrosities ? In other words, when 
there is sufficient vitality in the intellectual bent of a 
woman’s mind, to grow despite the barriers we place 
around it, do we not compel , by the presence of those 
obstacles, the development of an unnatural combative 
energy to overcome them, and then attribute her stern- 
ness of character to the cultivation of the intellect ?” 

“ I do not object to the cultivation of woman’s in- 
tellect ! She may study all she pleases.” 

“ But you would not have her enter the professions, 
become doctor, lawyer, statesman, orator ? ” 

“ No ; because these are out of her sphere — beyond 
it — in her normal condition she is not equal to them.” 

“ But she is equal to the domestic ? ” 

“ Certainly ; for that is the place God designed her 
for.” 

“ How do you know that?” 


161 


Or, Nannie Grant 

“ Why, because we see by the laws of reproduction 
and necessity that that is a place she must fill, and 
then by her adaptability to it.” 

“By the laws of reproduction we see that men 
must be the fathers of the race; but on that account 
shall we forbid their being anything else? You 
speak of woman’s adaptability to the domestic sphere ; 
do you suppose all women endowed with the qualities 
desirable for the responsible positions of mother ? I 
hold my standard of requisites for that position very 
high, and but a comparatively small number of 
women are upon its plane. If we seek the best in- 
terests of the race, were it not as well if those women 
who have neither tastes nor fitness for motherhood 
or wifehood, should be withdrawn from competition 
in those fields, by allowing a wider range of choice ? 
You have no objection to woman’s culture by study but 
you would not allow her to make use of that culture. 
If you should do the same with the body, how long 
would health continue. To feed the mind and then 
not give it exercise is no less disastrous. The rest- 
lessness of the body under such circumstances, is an 
indication of health ; and be assured the restlessness 
of your daughter’s mind, is no ‘ chimera,’ no ( off- 
spring of a brain excited by disease.’ ” 

“ But I object that when women enter the sphere 
of men, the influences there seem to exert a more 
hardening influence upon them, than even upon men, 
which I conclude is evidence that they are where their 
Creator never intended them to be.” 


162 


Was it an Inheritance f 


“ Precisely. And I agree with you that ‘ they are 
where their Creator never intended them to be be- 
cause surrounded by obstacles He never intended 
they should meet. I suppose you will admit that 
some women, Mrs. S , and Mrs. M , for in- 

stance, possess natural abilities that qualify them for 
public life. Now in entering that public life, they 
must encounter embarrassments in addition to the 
difficulties which you, I have no doubt, have often 
felt quite sufficient for your mettle — (unless you have 
been more favored than most men) — embarrassments 
in the prejudices of the communities in which they 
live, and far more difficult to overcome than any you 
or I encounter, and more prone to sour the temper, 
because of their oppressive injustice . Just think how 
exasperating this very objection would be to a woman 
of such abilities. 

“We hold obstacles in her way, and then say to 
her, i one objection I have to your entering this way, 
is, that removing or surmounting this impediment I 
hold, will sour your temper, or develop your mental 
or physical muscle till it will lose its gracefulness ; 
therefore you ought to, and must desist.’ But I am 
not aware that these ladies I have mentioned have 
sour tempers (at which I greatly wonder), or have 
lost their native gracefulness of person and manner. 

“You would forgive such a man as Frederick 
Douglas almost any severity of temper, because, as a 
man, you can imagine what chagrin he has experi- 
enced what opprobrium he has borne; but you would 


Or, Nannie Grant. 163 

thrust the soul of your own child into the vice-like 
compress you have prepared to preserve its infantine 
proportions, and farbid its progress by the strong 
cables of the law ; all to preserve the tender delicacy 
of infancy. Excuse me, my friend, when I say you , 
I mean those who take your side of the question.” 

“ Certainly, I so understand.” 

“ Would it not be more rational to remove both 
compress and cable, *and allow the Creator of head 
and limb to regulate their growth by His own laws ? 
Look at those trees, not one of them but with age 
acquires a rough bark. Now I understand from that 
fact, that such bark is not only the result of the 
internal changes in the woody fiber, but also a neces- 
sity to the health of the tree, and to the fulfillment 
of the plan God had in creating that tree. Though 
this smooth bark may be more comely in our eyes, is 
not the full-spreading tree a greater beauty? 

“ So, my dear sir, is it not possible that our idea of 
what is i becoming ’ and ‘ desirable ’ in womanly char- 
acter, are no more comprehensive than would be 
those of a pigmy, concerning the comeliness of a tree 
whose branches are, like God’s purposes for all His 
creatures, so high above his head that he cannot 
investigate them? 

“ It seems to me we might trust the development 
of the faculties God has implanted, and rely upon 
His judgment as to what is becoming and lovely in 
woman as in other things.. We lecture our girls 
when they are silly enough to suppose they can im- 


164 


Was it an Inheritance? 


prove on God’s idea of symmetry by compressing 
their waists in tight stays ; but we have never seen a 
woman the vital organs of whose mind had reached 
maturity without the compression of mental stays ; and 
hence we may be incompetent judges. 

It may be that when some brave woman flings off 
these intellectual ligatures, those faculties that have 
felt most the pressure may rebound, and exceed what 
is seemly ; but is that not an added proof that na- 
ture’s laws have been transgressed? I confess that 
nothing so much tempts me to a breach of the first 
commandment, as a woman who has made for herself 
a place in public life, and yet maintained her wom- 
anly purity and delicacy, as some have done. 

“ Such an one can have been moved by no selfish 
ambition, blinded by no glamour of worldly great- 
ness, for she receives contumely instead, and she 
must have been inspired by the loftiest sense of duty, 
and sustained by the presence of Him who, < when 
he was reviled, reviled not again,’ and yet, with dig- 
nity, answered the query of a Pilate, Hhou sayest 
it? ” 

“ Indeed, said Mr. Grant, “you are eloquent. The 
ladies should embrace you as their champion !” 

“ But have I spoken no truths ?” 

“I confess you have, many — and novel ones to me.” 

“And novel ones to myself also, I must confess. 
Arguments have seemed to come to me which I never 
thought of before, and this discussion has taken me 


Or, Nannie Grant . 165 

even beyond my former position. The tide has been 
coming in.” 

“ At least, yon have almost persuaded me that the 
notions of Sarah and Ruth have sense in them after 
all. But who have we here ? 

“Well, really! This is providential. These are 

acquaintances of mine — Mr. and Mrs. F , and 

those persons in the sleigh must be the friends they 
have been expecting from Nantucket.” 

Both vehicles were stopped when side by side, and 
the drivers exchanged a hearty shaking of the hand, and 
the customary friendly inquiries concerning the health 
of their respective families. Mr . W ilson then introduced 

his friend, Mr. Grant; and Mr. F , turning in 

his seat, presented his friends from Nantucket — Mr. 
and Mrs. C , also, their friends from Philadel- 
phia, Mr. and Mrs. . A gust of wind coming 

• down the gorge just then, interrupted the sound, and 
Mr. Grant did not catch the name. A short conver- 
sation ensued, during which an appointment was made 

for Mr. and Mrs. F and their friends, to visit 

at the parsonage, when they were assured that Mr. 
and Mrs. Grant and daughter, would do themselves 
the honor to be present. 

As the wind was cutting, the conversation was brief. 

“Very agreeable persons I should say,” remarked 
the Hon. Mr. Grant, as they drove on. 

“ My own impression, also. I know them only by 
reputation. How were you pleased with the appear- 
ance of the ladies ?” 


166 


Was it an Inheritance f 


“ I did not think they appeared much ; they were 
too closely muffled ; but the eyes, forehead, and voice 
of the one from Philadelphia, would be a recom- 
mendation anywhere. By the way, what an index 
to her character and disposition a woman’s voice is !” 

“You admire that woman’s?” 

“ Certainly ! she has a charming voice. Did you 
not observe it — who did he say she is ?” 

“Did you not understand? Talk of angels and 
you will hear their wings. That is Mrs. M 

“Not the Mrs. M of whom we were speak- 

mg?” 

“ To be sure ! Now acknowledge your error.” 

“ No, I’ll wait till after the visit. If my present 
impressions of her remain, that will be time enough 
to acknowledge that 1 woman’s-rights women may be 
lovable and womanly.’ ” 

The gentleman enjoyed a hearty laugh at Mr. 
Grant’s expense, and dropped the subject. 


Or, Nannie Grant 


167 


CHAPTER X. 


AN UNEXPECTED EVENT. 

HEY were descending a hill — not a steep or dif- 



JL ficult one, but the horse suddenly became 
restive, snorting and prancing in an unaccountable 
manner. 

“ This is a bad place,” said Mr. Grant. “ It ought 
to be widened. It is altogether too narrow for safety 
in passing.” 

There seemed to be a particular spot that the horse 
wished to avoid, and he shied so far from it, that one 
runner of the sleigh ran off the edge of the road, 
which was dug into the hill-side, and both gentlemen 
were thrown out. Mr. Wilson held fast to the lines 
and was dragged some rods, when the sleigh, in right- 
ing again, was thrown upon his leg, and he relin- 
quished his hold upon the reins, and horse and sleigh 
were soon out of sight. On looking about him, the 
minister could not see his friend. He endeavored to 
rise, but his limb pained him severely. He called, 
but received no answer. At length he succeeded in 
creeping to the edge of the road, bordering the preci- 
pice, when he saw Mr. Grant lying not far from the 
place where the sleigh upset, but doubled together 


168 


Was it an Inheritance f 


against a tree that grew upon the declivity. He 
called to him repeatedly, but received no reply; 
when, forgetting his own injuries, he hastened to the 
spot, raised him to a sitting posture, blew in his face, 
breathed in his mouth, slapped his spine smartly with 
the palm of his hand, felt for his pulse, tore his cloth- 
ing from his chest, and placed his ear above the heart. 
It had ceased to beat, he was dead ! His neck had 
been broken instantly. 

Mr. Wilson hastened to the nearest house and pro- 
cured assistance; the body was conveyed there, 
divested of its work-day habilaments, and straight- 
ened for the tomb. 

This done; “ Neow, Bob,” said Mrs. Jones, “1 
think you ort tu hitch up old Barney and take Mr. 
Wilson hum, an let the village-folks know what has 
happened; fur thet air hoss’ll go right straight hum, 
an Miss Grant’ll be skeert nigh abeout tu death.” 

“ Wall, I kalkerlate thet’s jest what I’s goin’ tu 
du, as quick as ever I kin ; but I ha’n’t got nothin’ 
better’n her fears tu take ’er.” 

Mr. Wilson now found himself unable to rise, or to 
walk alone. His limb was very painful, and he 
had become aware that his back had received some 
injury. 

“Mebby ye’d better stay here, Mr. Wilson, an’ I’ll 
du the best I kin fur ye,” said the kind-hearted 
woman. “ We can’t take keer on ye as nice as Mrs. 
Wilson kin; but Bob’ll fetch her deown, an’ we’ll 
make ye as comfortable as we kin.” 


Or, Nannie Grant 


169 


“ No, Mrs. Jones, you are very good and kind, but 
I fear my wife would suffer more in mind on her 
journey here, than I should bodily in going home; 
for no matter what she was told, she would imagine 
my leg broken, or my spine seriously injured, or both. 
That one has suffered so fatally, would make it diffi- 
cult to believe the other had been hurt but slightly.” 

So Mr. Jones assisted him on one hand, and Mrs. 
J ones upon the other, and the patient was seated in 
the “ cutter.” 

“Yeou’d hev an awful time ef yeou was tu 
kitch cold neow,” said Mrs. Jones, as she tucked a 
profusion of bed-quilts and comfortables about him. 

As they passed down the hill the reverend gentle- 
man could not repress a feeling of timidity as they 
approached the spot where the accident occurred ; but 
old Barney passed on steadily and safely. 

When Mr. Wilson pointed out the place to his 
neighbor, “ wall neow I du declar ! ” said that indi- 
vidual, “ef that ain’t exactly the notch whare I 
picked that critter up, more dead’n alive the time he 
run away and broke George Grant’s rib! Neow, 
that’e jest wat ailed the hoss, he ’membered ’bout 
failin’ deown thar’ an’ was afeared he’d du so agin !” 

They had proceeded but a little farther when they 
met Dr. Phelps and a neighbor, in a large sleigh with 
two horses attached. 

“ What is the matter Mr. Wilson, and where is my 
brother-in-law?” asked the doctor, before the horses 
which were suddenly drawn up, had ceased advancing. 

8 


170 


Was it an Inheritance f 


“ I have fearful news to tell you.” 

“ Fearful?” 

“ Yes ; the worst.” 

“ The worst ! That means death /” 

u Death ! ” said the minister, “ in the twinkling of 
an eye.” 

“ And it’s not two hours since I saw him as well 
and likely for life as any of us here.” 

“ Yes ; an hour ago he was so.” 

Then followed explanations upon each side. Upon 
one our readers are already informed. 

When Jim, the dappled gray, came rushing down 
the street, wild with affright, and at a furious speed, 
the tugs of the harness dangling about his feet, and 
the reins dragging in the snow. Dr. Phelps stood by 
the Post-office, and saw him pass, and go to the livery- 
stable in the rear of the hotel. He had just called 
at Mr. Grant’s office, and was told that he had gone 
to ride with Mr. Wilson. 

The horse was scarcely at the stable when Mr. 
Slater, the landlord, came dashing around the corner 
in this two-horse sleigh, which chanced to be just 
ready for a party ; and he, seeing the doctor, drove 
over and requested him to get in quickly, as his ser- 
vices were needed. 

“ I complied,” said Dr. Phelps, a not suspecting 
for whom they were needed ; for I did not know you 
had the gray, 

“But now you tell me I can do nothing. It 


Or, Nannie Grant 


171 


seems incredible ! He must not be dead ! he may not 
after all. Tell me where he is.” 

“At Robert J ones’ house ; but who will tell Mrs. 
Grant ?” 

“ Indeed ! indeed ! I do not know ; but I must see 
him. If it is as you say, we will bring the remains 
with us. I told Nannie of the death of George, and 
how could I carry this sad story to her ? Some one 
else must tell it.” 

The sleighs had each resumed its way, when Dr. 
Phelps turned and called Mr. Wilson : 

“ Please go at once to my house and tell Ruth 
first, and she and her mother will accompany you to 
Mrs. Grant’s.” 

“ I will go to your house, but shall be unable to 
do more, and shall require your help on your 
return.” 

“ Then you are injured ?” 

“ Some ; not seriously I think.” 

“ I will see you as soon as possible,” and each 
vehicle went on its sad errand. Let us follow those 
bound for the village. 

They proceeded at once to the house of Dr. Phelps, 
and Robert J ones entered with the request that one 
of the ladies would please step out to the sleigh, in 
the yard at the side door, as Mr. Wilson wished to 
speak to her. Ruth, as being the younger, answered 
the summons. 

After the usual greeting he still retained her hand, 


172 


Was it an Inheritance f 


saying, “I called at the request of your father to 
bring a communication from him.” 

“ Why, Mr. Wilson,” said she, scarcely apprecia- 
ting his words, because so impressed by the pallor of 
his countenance, “are you ill ?” 

“ I have met with an accident, but am so thankful 
that my life is spared, that I think lightly of my 
wounds.” 

“ How did it happen ?” 

“ I was riding with your Uncle William, when the 
horse took fright and we were both thrown from the 
sleigh ” 

“ And my uncle? Was he hurt?” 

“Yes.” 

“Badly?” 

“ Miss Ruth, ‘I, alone , escaped to tell it/” 

“What! My uncle is not dead?” 

“ Yes, Miss Phelps, he is dead. Killed instantly.” 

“Oh! can it be? Where is father!” 

“ Gone to bring the body home, and he wished me 
to call and tell you, and that you and your mother go 
at once and tell Mrs. Grant and Sarah.” 

“How can I tell them? how can I? It will kill 
Aunt Nannie outright! Oh! Mr. Wilson, can you 
not tell them?” 

“ I am so much injured that I am unable to stand 
or walk, and am even now suffering much.” 

Mrs. Phelps sat by a large bow-window, and ob- 
serving the manners of the trio, (for Robert Jones sat 
all the time, with his chin upon his breast, and his 


Or , Nannie Grant . 173 

hands upon either knee,) she came to the door and 
asked, what had happened ? 

“ Something sad.” 

“Is my husband hurt?” 

“ He is quite well, and will be at home soon, but I 
feel so ill that I will go home to my family, and leave 
Ruth to explain to you. Good-day,” and he rode 
out of the gate immediately. 

“Mother,” said Ruth, as she entered the house, 
“ come back and sit in the rocking-chair here, while 
I tell you, please.” 

She did as requested so calmly that Ruth dropped 
upon her knees beside her, and covering her face in 
her mother’s lap, sobbed out: “Oh! how can I tell 
you ?” 

“ My child, be calm ! He said your father is well, 
and will soon be home, is it Henry, or Thomas, or 
Mary, or their families?” 

“ No, no, mother, but how can we ever tell Aunt 
Nannie and Sarah ? and we must, he said we must, 
he said father told him to tell us to.” 

“Ruth, do tell me what has happened?” 

“Not dead! surely you are mistaken!” said Mrs. 
Phelps, when her daughter had concluded the brief 
narration; “severely, dangerously injured, it may be; 
but he cannot be really dead !” 

“ Yes, mother, dead! I could not believe it, but 
he assured me that father is bringing his body home, 
and he wishes you and me to go and prepare Aunt 
Nannie and Sarah.” 


174 


Was it an Inher itance f 


“My child, it will hill her! Oh! how can we?” 

“ Yet, we must, and go soon, or father may be 
there first, and that would be dreadful and they 
arose simultaneously, and proceeded to put on their 
warm wrappings for the street. 

“ Sally,” said Mrs. Phelps, as she entered her sister’s 
dining-room, by the side-door, “I suppose Sister 
Nannie is with Sarah ?” 

“ Wall, no, I guess not, marm. I guess she’s in 
the kitchen a-talkin’ to that new gal she’s got. She’s 
a orful high-flyin’ critter, an’ she an’ Betsy hav’ ben 
havin’ a tiff this mornin’. They hev tu spat every 
little while, an’ Miss Grant she hes tu go down an’ 
settle ’em.” 

“ Please, Sally, call her, and say to her that I am 
gone up to Sarah’s room, and want to see her there 
immediately . I’m in a great hurry.” 

“Is any thin’ the matter, Miss Phelps? Law 
sakes ! but you’re orful pale !” 

“A dreadful affliction, Sally. It does seem as 
though the Lord is laying his hand on my sister in a 
very severe manner.” 

“ Is anythin’ the matter with Joe now?” 

“ No, Sally, it’s Mr. Grant this time, but call her 
quick, and then don’t be scared let the doctor bring 
what he will .” 

“ Du tell ! Why you’ve skert me so now, my heart 
is jest ready to jump out o’ my mouth ! What on 
airth is the matter?” 

“ O, Sally ! I must tell Nannie and Sarah first, and 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


175 


quick ! or they may be here with it. Now remember 
what I tell you, don’t be scared, let them bring what 
they may;” and she proceeded at once to the room 
of her niece. 

Mrs. Grant soon followed her, with but a vague 
wonder what her haste could be. 

Ruth had preceded them, and sat holding her 
cousin’s hand, with her face lying upon the pillow 
beside hers, their cheeks resting together, and both 
quietly weeping. 

What passed between those four women, how the 
sad intelligence was communicated, &nd how received, 
remains alone with them ; but when Dr. Phelps en- 
tered, a half-hour after Mrs. Grant had done so, he 
found the girls still in the position already described, 
and his sister-in-law upon the sofa, with her hands 
clasped in those of his wife, who was kneeling by her 
side, engaged in earnest oral prayer, which was such 
an out-pouring of soul as brought every one of her 
auditors face to face with Deity. 

As he entered she uttered these words : “ Oh, 
loving Father ! we know thou art beside us now — we 
almost feel thy touch upon our brows. Let us feel 
thy soothing hand laid on our aching hearts. Thou 
breathest on the fountains of our physical life, and 
we know that but for that propelling and restraining 
power, our brains could never be the instruments of 
thought — that neither soul nor body could know life. 
Oh ! breathe upon those centers whence issue the 
currents of our spiritual life, that we may wake to 


176 


Was it an Inheritance f 


life like thine — that we may know *tis the same love 
that gives and takes away ; the same that gave 
tendrils of affection to our natures, and placed this 
object in their reach, and for their grasping , that now 
suddenly sunders the one, and removes the other. 
’Tis not because this exuberance of their growth came 
not at Thy bidding , that Thou dost prune us thus ; 
but having wrought the fullness of their work for 
us, Thou would’st turn the vital current of our 
beings from them, to the more abundant fullness of 
the fruition of our souls. As the vine, though a thing 
of beauty, giving cool shade, ’neath burning suns, finds 
its ultimate and superior end in the fruit that minis- 
ters to a higher development ; so help us to see that 
our earthly affections, lovely and useful in themselves, 
yet have a higher value in their ministration to the 
spiritual — that love is immortal and cannot die. Thou 
inhabitest eternity , and art familiar with all its secrets ; 
we do but stand within its outer vestibule, and hang 
our heads abashed at our own ignorance. The 
thought born of Thy eternal maturity , gave birth to 
us ; we are ignorant of the coming moment, as of the 
infinity of ages past. Thou art wisdom, and the 
source of all good ; but we follow after errors. We 
would trust in Thy wise goodness, which cannot err. 
We would sink into Thy hand, knowing that it can 
do no cruel act ; and that Thy reign of righteousness 
is peace. And when at length Thou openest the door 
to bid us enter with our fruitage, may it be found no 
branch, or leaf, or tendril, the excission of which has 


Or, Nannie Grant 177 

caused us pain, has failed of its office, in life or 
death. 

“ Thus, assured that life begun, because ’tis good, is 
life eternal ; — that good possessed, is good assured , 
because eternal , as thou art ; may we accept the be- 
reavements of to-day, as good brought down from 
planes beyond our view.” 

The Doctor stood with head uncovered, feeling that 
the place whereon he trod, was holy ground ; and 
though no miracle of burning bush was there, the 
fervid flame burned in each breast, and God spake 
yet again, — “ I have surely seen the affliction of my 
people, and have heard their cry by reason of their 
task-masters ; for I know their sorrows and am come 
down to deliver them, and to bring them up unto a 
goodly land and a large.” 

The calmness with which Mrs. Grant and her 
daughter bore this sudden and heavy affliction sur- 
prised their acquaintances ; but only those who have 
listened to them in the hour of bereavement, can 
form a just conception of the different influence of 
consolations such as Mrs. Phelps poured into their 
wounded hearts, and such as they had listened to on 
former occasions, when they were told that “ these 
friends had been loved too well,” (as if poor selfish 
human nature could love any one but self too well ,) 
“ had been idols, and as God is jealous of our love, 
he had taken them away that they might love Him 
more.” 

“ But,” Mrs. Grant had said, u I loved according to 
8 * 


178 


Was it an Inheritance f 


the nature God gave me, and if it was not wrong in 
quality, how could it be in quantity; I loved as 
mothers do, and God attuned the mother’s heart.” 

“ I’m afraid,” said Deacon Styles, “ you are rebel- 
ling against providence, questioning God’s sov- 
ereignty.” 

As the sun’s rays dissolve the frost upon the window- 
pane, which, though admitting light sufficient for the 
necessities of labor, shuts from view all forms, and 
hues, and movements of the world beyond as effectu- 
ally as prison walls; so when “the Sun of righteous- 
ness” arises with healing wing, and breathes upon 
the casement of the soul, its opacious veil dissolves, 
and through the tear-dimmed medium we see, not 
phantoms, but realities; and to the five souls in that 
apartment the influence of that hour was never lost, 
for the frost-screen never returned. 

Of Mr. Grant’s four living children but two were 
present at his burial, Sarah and Joseph. The latter was 
accompanied from New York City by his cousin Henry 
Phelps. Two sons of John Wentworth also came to 
pay their last respects to their distinguished relative. 

A large concourse of people from L , and 

neighboring towns followed the remains to their last 
resting-place. 

Mr. Wilson, the pastor, was too ill from the effects 
of the injuries he had received to officiate, but was 
carried into the church in a chair, which was placed 
at the head of the coffin as it sat upon the table in 
front of the pulpit. 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


179 


A rising young minister delivered a discourse of 
nearly two hours’ length from the text, “be ye also 
ready, for in such an hour as ye think not the son of 
man cometh,” followed by a sketch of the life and 
character of the deceased. “ He was born in that town, 
was a good son, a kind brother, an indulgent husband, 
a considerate father, a peaceable neighbor, a good 
citizen, a faithful magistrate, and had represented the 
district creditably to himself and his constituents in 
the halls of Congress. He was also a consistent 
member of the visible church ;” and he might have 
added, “ with all, an obstinate, narrow-minded man.” 
It had probably been well for him, and certainly for 
the community in which he lived, that the main bias 
of his education had been on the side of good morals ; 
yet had it been more truly education , including the 
enlightenment and cultivation of the understanding 
rather than biasing the judgment alone; and if upon 
that enlightened understanding, developed inner-sense, 
and disciplined reason, had been cast the responsibility 
of correcting the habits, the manners, and the temper, 
and of discriminating between the false and the true 
in science and ethics, who can tell how it might have 
extended its growth in this life ? As it was, his last 
words applied in deep significance to the way in which 
his soul had trodden. “ This place is altogether too 
narrow for safety in passing.” 

He left this period of existence bewailing the me- 
diocrity of his children, yet what had he not done to 
make them what they were ? 


180 


Was it an Inheritance f 


As their father, he had endued them with the 
servility of mind which cannot co-exist with, or be- 
get nobility of thought or action. How far he 
was responsible for this, and how far the victim of 
conditions imposed by his progenitors, He alone, to 
whom the secrets of the heart lie open, and who 
framed the laws that regulate the deep recesses where 
volition has its birth, must be the judge; yet every 
one whose eye shall ever look upon this page, by that 
very act, and the certain knowledge, from observation 
and experience, that when he chooses, he may find an- 
other object for his vision, bears witness that William 
Grant could have also widened his field of mental 
vision. 

The body is at once the twin, the offspring, and 
servant of the soul ; and the faculties of the one, have 
their counterpart in those of the other ; and, so far 
as human reason can penetrate, the laws that govern 
both are one, except, as adjusted to their different 
spheres. 

Mr. Grant had passed through life priding himself 
upon the servility of his thought, as upon an exceed- 
ing virtue. His example and precept, had taught 
that the accepted opinion is the correct opinion. “ We 
are taught;” “It is believed;” “I have believed;” 
were words most frequently upon his lips, and indica- 
tive of the normal state of his mind. The position 
he had occupied in the government of his country 
was due, as is too often the case at the present day, to 
the wealth in his coffers, the ability and influence of 


181 


Or, Nannie Grant 

his connections, and the obsequiousness of his disposi- 
tion, rather than to that wealth of intellect and soul, for 
want of which, in legislative halls, the land still groans. 

Search among his papers, discovered no will other 
than the unfinished letter to Seth, which contained 
the last words penned by his hand, and to his stricken 
wife, by far the dearest. That he had forgiven the 
boy, acknowledged his own error, and invited him 
home — was the sweet morsel Providence had dropped 
into this, her most bitter cup. 

But how, or where should she find her boy ? She 
had been a faithful wife, “ keeping well to her sphere,” 
and was well-nigh as ignorant of public affairs, and 
the influence of public men, as though she was the 
infant with which the law classed her. Few were 
aware of the rupture between Mr. Grant and his son, 
and it was too delicate a matter to be made public 
now, yet every means was employed, even to inge- 
nious advertising, to convey to Seth the fact that his 
deceased father had left an unfinished letter, which 
he would be glad to receive. Recollecting the dis- 
tance from the scene of war, the imperfect communi- 
cation then existing with that region, and the fre- 
quent changes in the positions of the army; had his 
friends known the number of his regiment, it must 
have been by the merest good fortune had they been 
able to reach him; especially, as he served in the 
ranks. The earnest efforts of the Rev. Mr. Gilbert, 
ultimated in an exhortation to faith and patience, and 
thus they waited many long years. 


182 


Was it an Inheritance f 


CHAPTER XI. 


DOWN TO THE VALLEY. 

E have known but little of onr friend J oseph 



VV since his brother’s death, and even before, 
knew little of his city-life. One bright morning in 
early spring, the sun was high in the heavens, but he 
had not yet arisen. A servant tapped at his door. 

“What is wanting?” 

“Are you sick, Mr. Grant?” 

“Well, yes; I guess I am. Come in.” 

The servant looked in. The window-blind was 
open, the sun was staring in, and the young man 
tossing in feverish restlessness. His magnificent eyes 
looked larger and brighter than ever, and his cheeks 
were rosy with an unnatural glow. 

“ I feel so prodigiously hot ! ” said he, tossing his 
arms about ; “ I’m tired to death, and yet I can’t be 
still. I’ve thrashed about all night. Some of the 
time I’ve been burning up, and then again my hair 
is wet to its ends. I’ve just stopped sweating. Put 
your fingers in my hair and feel how wet it is.” 

So he ran on: restless, uneasy, loquacious; yet 
weak as a child. A physician was called, who pro- 
nounced his disease of a typhoid nature. Joseph 
was a general favorite, — so pleasing in person, and 
engaging in manners, so kind and generous in dis- 


Or y Nannie Grant . 


183 


position, that he seldom stood in need of kindly 
offices, and his landlady stoutly refused to consign 
him to the tender mercies of a hospital, even at the 
risk of losing some of her more nervous boarders; 
for typhoid fever was then no less shunned than 
typhus. The next day, Mr. Ball, his employer, re- 
moved him to his own house, where he was tenderly 
nursed. His disease assumed a form so severe that 
it became necessary to notify his friends. 

The reader can better imagine, than the writer can 
describe, the dismay in his home, decimated as it had 
become, when Mr. Ball’s letter reached Mrs. Grant. 
It chanced that at the time, Sarah was suffering much 
more than usual, and required a constant and attentive 
nurse. What hireling could ever take the place of 
an intelligent loved one, beside a sick-bed ? As Mrs. 
Grant was scarcely strong enough to attempt the care 
of J oe, and her sister and kind neighbors relieved her 
in the care of Sarah, she remained with the invalid at 
home, and Buth answered the call to New York. An 

unusual amount of sickness prevailing in L just 

then, Dr. Phelps could not leave his numerous 
patients to accompany her. 

Down in the valley of death, the feet of the young 
man stood upon that slippery threshold over which 
all the multitudes must pass into the great unknown. 
Yet his cousin faltered not in the firmness of the 
grasp in which she held him. Five weary weeks she 
watched, day and night, beside his couch, stealing 
but short intervals of rest, which were only caught 


184 


Was it an Inheritance f 


during moments when Morpheus was dragged re- 
luctant to his pillow. 

At length the victory was given to life, and death 
grown weary of the conflict, retired. As soon as 
he could endure the journey, Ruth removed her 
patient to L . 

“Now, young man,” said Dr. J , “ I’ve brought 

you through so far, and you owe it to me to stand by 
all my prescriptions. Here is a package of medicines, 
and the directions are all written out in full, and put 
inside of the outer wrapper. 

“ In addition to these, I want you to get some 
good brandy, and take it twice, at least, every day.” 

“ I will not neglect your medicine, doctor, for you 
have saved my life ; but ” and he hesitated. 

“ But what ?” 

“ Must I take the brandy?” His thin hand trem- 
bled as he drew it across his moist, white forehead. 

“Certainly you must. It is as essential as the 
other remedies. You must know you stand in great 
danger of a relapse yet, and you need building up. 
If you should have a severe relapse, all the doctors 
in Christendom couldn’t save you. Don’t you like 
brandy ? some other liquor might do.” 

“Not any better than brandy. I don’t like to 
think of any of them.” 

“Have scruples against them, maybe?” said the 
doctor, with a covert sneer. 

“ Well, I’d rather not take them, if something else 
will do as well.” 


Or, Nannie Grant 


185 


“ Ah ! well, you’ll conquer that, my boy ; and bit- 
ter drugs can’t take the place of spirits.” 

“ Doctor,” said Ruth, “ a celebrated physician and 
surgeon in England — Dr. Higginbottom, says that he 
has not made use of alcoholic liquors, in any form, 
in cases of either typhus, or typhoid fevers since 
1813, and is far more successful in treating them 
without spirits, than he ever was with them. He re- 
commends milk instead; and my father has used it 
for some time past, and with the most satisfactory re- 
sults in every instance.” 

“Ha! ha! well, well; that’s a right down old 
granny’s prescription ! Joe, you’re such a baby that 
you’d better take milk. Might sweeten it a little, and 
add a little hot water to warm it, and have a napkin 
under your chin, and your cousin will feed it to you 
with a tea-spoon.” 

Ruth arose with a bright spot burning upon her 
cheek, and confronting the doctor, said : “ Sir, I have 
mistaken you for a gentleman, till now. The au- 
thority I have quoted is far above any we have in the 
United States, at this time ; and you, certainly, do 
not stand at the head of the profession, even here ; 
and both facts ought to be well-known to you. Per- 
haps, it would have been as well for your future self- 
respect, if you had taken milk, instead of a glass of 
brandy this morning ; even, though, with the sugar, 
water, napkin, nurse, and spoon, as accessories.” 

The doctor’s face was crimson. He had really 
great respect for the young lady, and it was only too 


186 


Was it an Inheritance f 


true that the glass of brandy he had taken before 
leaving his office, had made him forget both his dig- 
nity and politeness. He hastened to apologize, but 
with obsequiousness that was as repugnant as his for- 
mer rudeness. 

“ Saved his life !” said Miss Henrietta, the beati- 
ful brunette sister of Mrs. Ball, who had overheard 
a portion of the conversation, from an adjoining room. 
“ Saved his life ! The credit of that belongs to Miss 
Ruth. All the doctors he has had around him, 
couldn’t have saved him but for what she has done ! 
I should like to know if, at three different times he 
didn’t give him up ? and twice had two other doctors 
here to help him do it. And Miss Phelps told them 
more about the disease than any of them knew. I 
shall never forget how they stared at her, and at each 
other, when she went on explaining the nature of the 
disease, using all their professional terms, and then 
how graciously they consented to ‘ try her prescrip- 
tion, as he could but die f and when it helped him, 
tried to make believe they knew all about it before, 
and chose it themselves, though it was plain enough 
they didn’t. It provokes me to have him take all the 
credit ; but I’m downright exasperated to hear Joe 
give it to him. ‘ Saved his life !’ Miss Phelps,” 
(that lady entering the room just then), “ why don’t 
you add M. D. to your name, and set up for a doctor. 
Those two magical letters would command the re- 
spect your abilities deserve. Women have been doc- 
tors. haven’t they ?” 


Or, Nannie Grant, 


187 


“ To be sure they have, ana I thank you for the 
compliment, but I cannot ‘ set up for a physician/ 
without a diploma, and that I cannot obtain. Every 
medical school in the United States is closed against 
me. I cannot attend medical lectures, nor be ad- 
mitted to clinics anywhere. I have made several 
applications, and intend to try every school in the 
country till I get in somewhere. I shall keep apply- 
ing till, from weariness, they will arise and give me 
what I ask.” 

“ Good ! Good ! I hope you will persevere.” 

About two weeks after this the cousins were on 
their way homeward. 

“You’ve got my head too high,” said Joe, as he 
reclined upon two seats in a railroad car, for this 
was before the advent of Pullman. 

“ Then I will remove your coat and substitute my 
shawl.” Ruth raised him to a sitting posture, and 
taking the shawl from her person, folded it smoothly 
and placed it under his pillow, and then gently laid 
him down again. 

“You’ve got a great wrinkle in it somewhere, and 
something hurts my shoulder,” said he, pettishly. 

“Well, we’ll fix it,” and she raised him again, and 
patiently went through the process of re-adjustment. 
After repeating this several times she was at length 
rewarded by “well! well! let it go, you won’t get it 
right if you fuss all day ; I can’t see why, though.” 

Joe was only an added evidence that the most 
amiable men are often the most unreasonable invalids. 


188 


Was it an Inheritance f 


After lying quiet a few moments with closed eyes, he 
languidly reached his hand towards her and said, 
w Fm as cross as a bear, Euth. But you won’t mind 
it will you?” 

“Oh, no, I’ll remember that you are the best- 
natured fellow in the world when you are well.” 

“Say, Coz,” after another pause, “don’t you think 
I had better take a sip of that brandy?” 

“J Rest is the best for you now. No wonder you 
are tired. The exertion and excitement of starting, 
and of bidding adieu to all those good friends of 
yours, especially Miss Celia and her Aunt Henrietta. 
Indeed I shouldn’t wonder if you hadn’t breath to 
heave a sigh.” 

“ ’Tis a’most a wonder, but you see I have,” said 
he, laying his hand upon his heart and giving vent 
to a long-drawn respiration, followed by a feeble 
laugh. “ ‘ Celia and her aunt.’ That sounds strange- 
ly when Henrietta is but a year the older. But I 
feel such a hunger, a goneness without a desire for 
food, and when I take that brandy it seems to satisfy 
that and brace me up. I think I need stimulus. 
It stands to reason I do, I am so weak.” 

“Not stimulus, Joe, so much as nourishment. I 
will just step into the lunch-room here and get you 
some milk, I shall have time before the train starts.” 

“No, you won’t,” said he, catching at her dress, “if 
you get it you will have to drink it yourself, for I 

won’t. Dr. J said I should take brandy and he 

knows.” 


Or, Nannie Grant 


189 


“You have far more confidence in Dr. d ’s 

prescriptions than I have, she said sadly ; more than 
you would have if you knew more about your own 
case. And then if you recollect, his prescription was 
not a glass whenever you feel you need it. It is now just 
nine a.m., and you have already had one glass to-day.” 

“Yes, but I’m subjected to an unusual amount of 

fatigue to-day, and Dm sure Dr. J would advise 

me to take it whenever I feel I need it.” 

“And let you be the judge? Would you do the 
same with the other remedies?” 

“ But he gave exact directions for them.” 

“And should have been even more particular in 
the administration of this, if giving it at all. My 
judgment is that milk is far better for you.” 

“And I should judge that you are correct, madam,” 
said a scholarly-looking middle-aged gentleman who 
occupied a seat near them, and who had Avatched the 
conversation Avith apparent interest. He approached 
the seat in Avhich the young man lay, and apologizing 
politely, laid his fingers on the emaciated Avrist with 
a decidedly professional air. 

Turning to Kuth he asked, “what has been his 
disease? of a typhoid nature?” 

“ Yes, typhoid fever, in a very severe form.” 

“I should judge so. A very severe case,” Avith a 
quick glance that took in the Avhole contour of the 
patient. Young man, take my advice and your 
friend’s prescription, and let brandy go to the dogs, 
(who Avill not take it.) My A\'ord for it as president 


190 


Was it an Inheritance f 


of a medical college, if you continue to take the 
alcoholic stimulants your quack of an M.D. prescribed, 
you will be the prey of diseases far more difficult to 
cure than typhoid fever.” 

Ruth hastened from the car, leaving her charge in 
his care, and having procured a cup of milk, just 
gained the steps as the train began to move. 

“I am very thoughtless,” said the stranger, “I 
should have procured that for you. I beg pardon.” 

“ Not at all,” said the young lady, “ I am accustomed 
to these things, and like to feel my independence some- 
times, though at others enjoying dependence, and a 
sense of obligation equally well, I confess. I am in 
an independent mood to-day.” 

Joe and their new acquaintance had been discussing 

the identity of Dr. J . He had been a student 

at C College, — had a good memory and some 

ability, and had passed a creditable examination. 

“ Yet,” said Dr. S , “ he belonged to that class of 

persons who never ought to practice medicine. They 
have no sagacity or discernment — no discrimination 
of constitutions or organizations. I confess I have 
great hesitancy in signing diplomas for such students. 
They will go by the books, and know nothing more. 
Yet what can I do ? If a man has passed the re- 
quired examination, I cannot withhold a certificate to 
that effect.” 

It was with some difficulty that Joe could be pre- 
vailed upon to take the milk, but he at length yielded, 
and the conversation between his cousin and Dr. 


191 


Or, Nannie Grant. 

S , taking a scientific turn, which did not specially 

interest him, he was soon enjoying a refreshing nap. 

The interchange of ideas between Miss Phelps and 

Dr. S , was protracted and highly interesting, not 

only to the participants, but to a stranger who shared 
a seat with the medical gentleman. 

When Miss Phelps incidentally made mention of 
her father’s name, the doctor at once recognized him 
as an acquaintance, though better known by reputa- 
tion, than personally. 

“ Your father, Miss Phelps, is a man who thinks 
reflects, reasons, and is quick to perceive. The 
health of his patients is safe in his hands. He values 
his profession as more than a means to a liveli- 
hood. He has an eye to the permanent health of his 
patients. By his independent and logical thought, 
his cautious practice, and his contributions to the 
science of medicine, such a man makes the world and 
the profession the wiser and better for his having 
lived. I should judge that his daughter sometimes 
lays hands on his books, and has “ caught the trick 
of thinking.” When she informed him of the extent 
of her studies, and expressed her desire to complete 
them, with a view to regular practice, his admiration 
was undisguised. 

“ Ah ! ” said the gentleman beside the doctor, u my 
friend Mr. Wm. J. Mullen, of Philadelphia, is moving 
heaven and earth to institute a Female College in our 
City, and he never fails in anything. Let me give 
you his address.” (passing a card to her). "Now 


192 


Was it an Inheritance f 


just write to him; do not feel any reluctance about 
doing so, for I am certain he will be delighted to re- 
ceive your letter; tell him just what you think and 
how you feel about being debarred these privileges ; 
and how and why you desire them. He will make 
good use of your case to further his enterprise. You 
can contribute your quota in that way.” 

Dr. S made no remark, but looking down, 

drummed with his fingers, upon the window-sill, in 
an abstracted manner. 

But time and change terminate the most interesting 
interviews, and before the trio were aware, the place 
of destination of the cousins was near, and the train 
must be exchanged for the ferry. 

“ Oh, father ! I am so glad you are here,” said 
Ruth as she sprang from the car to greet him. “ Here 
is J oe, I have done the best I could for him, and now 
I’ll deliver him over to you the rest of the way.” 

The doctor embraced his daughter affectionately, 
and then assisted his nephew from the car. 

“ Ah, my boy, and so you concluded to stay a while 
longer with us. Glad to see you ! Glad to see you ! 
We’ll put some color in your face and flesh on your 
bones out here in the country. Plenty of milk (no 
chalk and water) and pure air, and sea-breeze, will 
soon change your complexion and avoirdupois.” 

“ There’s the confounded milk again,” thought Joe; 
but he greeted his uncle pleasantly, and that gentle- 
man was soon supplanted by a pale petite lady in 
mourning weeds. 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


205 


and wailed in utter helplessness , as if smitten with a 
palsy, like that of fear. There seemed to be a defi- 
ciency of moral power, when demanded for a change 
of any habit , but as the appetite for strong drink 
became the ruling habit, it swept all others before it, 
and the young man to destruction.” 

“ His intellectual, and social, and animal nature 
were properly developed, yet he was deficient in the 
moral, if I understand you.” 

“Not exactly that; for he seemed not only to ap- 
preciate moral truths, but, if new, could form habits 
in accordance with them ; but was powerless, or seem- 
ingly so, against a habit already formed.” 

“ A strange combination,” said Dr. S , musing, 

“ and yet, perhaps, not so uncommon after all, upon 
reflection, except it may be in degree.” 

“ It seemed to be a sort of moral and intellectual 
fatuity , affecting those faculties, as opposed to any 
one faculty that chanced to have gained a vantage- 
ground ; a lack of power in the will , to command or 
maintain its hosts, against the insurrections of petty 
usurpers .” 

“ I see ! I see !” said Dr. S . 

“ The second daughter died a few years ago of con- 
sumption of the blood,” Dr. P resumed. “ She 

had a mind of ordinary calibre. The next is the 
young man whom you met with my daughter to- 
day ” 

“ Who will be a periodical drunkard, I fear, and 
in that event, his offspring, should he become a father, 


206 Was it an Inheritance f 

will suffer from nervous diseases, one can plainly see/- 
said Dr. S. . 

“ The next is an invalid, and has been bedridden 
most of the time for years — a disease of the nerves 
and spine ; and the youngest is the rover, now a sol- 
dier in the Mexican army.” 

“ The sons were all drinkers, and two, if not three 

out of the four, drink to excess,” said Dr. S. . 

“Of three daughters, one is dead, of consumption of 
the blood, and another suffers from disease of the 
spine and nerves. Has she caries of the spine?” 

“No, I think the difficulty is confined to the 
nerves, with muscular weakness. Her stomach and 
liver have also been long in a disordered state. 
As a child, she was nervous, abstracted, dreamy, and 
inclined to scrofula.” 

“ How with her mind ?” 

“ Unusual activity of the brain. Her mind seems 
strong and clear ; sometimes gloomy and desponding, 
as to be expected with a diseased liver, but at others, 
buoyant and hopeful.” 

“ How is the health of the rover?” 

“ Good. A strong, well-developed physique is his ; 
and I have some hopes that, in spite of a tremendous , 
restless willfulness, he may yet be a respectable man ; 
but it will be only the remnant of his days that soci- 
ety and his Maker will receive. He will waste the 
best portion of his vitality in riotous living. His will 
may be his salvation.” 

“ I suppose you have wrought some theory from 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


207 


all these facts you have been presenting to me. I 
should be glad to hear it?” queried Dr. S . 

“ Probably few physicians of our day would look 
upon Mr. Grant’s family, and say ‘ these parents have 
wrought the ruin of their own children.’ Some 
might say that i placing wine before them, they had 
tempted them to form bad appetites/ which is very 
true ; yet few would recognize the fact that they were 
born into the world under the curse of their parents ’ 
misdoing” said Dr. P . That is true as gos- 

pel! 

u Mrs. Grant’s nervousness, and lack of self-control, 
might have nearly or quite disappeared in the next 
generation ; especially, mated as it was with the op- 
posite extreme in her husband, had no irritating, dis- 
organizing element been infused into the blood of 
either parent ; and yet I suppose, if Mr. Grant had 
been a reasoning man, which he was not , he would 
scarcely have taken into account the fact that, even 
though his wife never tasted ‘ the drink’ which he 
might have been able to understand would be pecu- 
liarly harmful to one of her temperament, the alco- 
holic effect produced upon his system by his imbibing, 
united in their offspring with her peculiar tempera- 
ment, as was inevitable, must work disaster to their 
children. In some of them we see plainly that the 
combination of the most striking mental qualities of 
both parents, with the poisoned physical constitution, 
has proved an inheritance such as no parent could 
wish to bequeath to his offspring.” 


208 


Was it an Inheritance f 


“ How do you account for the peculiarities you 
have mentioned as Mrs. Grant’s?” 

“They are both mental and physical, and the 
natural results of the mental and physical excitement 
in which Mrs. Wentworth lived prior to sister Nan- 
nie’s birth; aided by the fact that the judge was so 
attached to his c bitters’ that he would have thought 
any meal utterly incomplete without grog of some sort.” 

“But some drunkards’ children appear to be as 
healthy as other people’s, and never seem inclined to 
drink. How will you explain that ? ” 

“ By the same reasoning. Some quality or condi- 
tion of one parent, permanent or incidental, combines 
with the conditions which would otherwise produce 
these tendencies, and either neutralizes them or 
changes their direction into other channels where we 
fail to trace them. But inasmuch as the effects of 
alcohol are always evil, some good must be lost in 
disposing of them, and that is an evil in another 
form ; for the best parents in the world cannot be- 
queath to their children better constitutions than they 
need.” 

“ Then you think, if the mother’s physical consti- 
tution supplies what the father’s fails to give, the 
child is the loser in either health, mentality or 
morality?” 

“ Most certainly. It cannot be otherwise ; and if 
it still reaches mediocrity , by just so much would it 
have exceeded mediocrity had not his parent robbed 
it for his own gratification.” 


Or, Nannie Gh'ant. 


209 


“ That is clear and logical.” 

. Dinner was soon announced, and the gentlemen 
had barely time to eat it and drive to the depot before 
the arrival of the N. Y. train, when they parted to 
meet no more on earth. 

The Hon. William Grant had been supposed to 
possess a goodly share of this world's wealth, and his 
wife had been among those entertaining that opinion. 
She was as ignorant of his pecuniary or business 
affairs as any one could be, for when she had asked 
about them, his uniform reply had been, “ Oh, Nan- 
nie, don't trouble yourself about these things. What 
I want of you is, that you enjoy yourself as well as 
possible. Be happy, and that will please me better 
than if you troubled yourself about money matters. 
When you want money, call on me for it, and if I 
have it, or can get it, you shall have it. No need 
that two be worried about business affairs.'' 

In vain she protested that unity of interest and 
feeling was necessary to her happiness, and would be 
promoted by sharing her husband's anxieties; that 
she was always unhappy when she must ask for 
money, lest the request should annoy him by being 
inopportune ; and the more she loved him, the more 
she felt so. 

“ Be happy, and you will please me best,'' he said, 
and probably thought himself kind and “ indulgent,” 
not recognizing the fact that those very terms, disclose 
the existence of absolute and unreasonable govern- 
ment. Happiness is necessarily a thing of circum- 


210 


Was it an Inheritance f 


stance, though contentment is born of the inner-life 
alone. Happiness will not come at the bald com- 
mand of will, though contentment knows no other 
law. Wm. Grant bade his wife (as many another 
man has done) command that which never yet obeyed 
command, while clutching in his own firm hand the 
only means that could secure compliance. Why? 
“And yon will please me.” As he forgot to recipro- 
cate the endeavor to please, she acquiesced at length, 
and tried to take what was given as unquestioning as 
the horse in the stable ; though doubtless she some- 
times wept, or spoke sharp words in vexation at what 
seemed unkindness, when, could she have shared his 
anxieties, as she had promised and desired to do, her 
faculties would have found healthful employment in 
aiding him. But whenever contentment is forced to 
bring, as task, the peace which happiness would 
gladly bring as pastime, the soul is beggared by the 
exclusion of the one, and the servility of the other, 
and barters strife for poverty. 

Mrs. Grant was surprised, like her neighbors, to 
learn that a few hundreds of dollars was all she could 
call her own. Her place and manner of living were 
not materially changed till Joe’s convalescence, when 
she first learned that her male neighbors, judging her 
and her children incompetent to settle their own 
affairs, had chosen such men as pleased them to 
adjust those affairs as they pleased, and fixed their 
salary therefor, which they would abstract from the 


Or, Nannie Or ant, 211 

estate regardless of the consent or objections of the 
family. 

It mattered not that a large part of the capital was 
her father’s gift. The court had decided that she 
could own nothing while her husband — her other self 
— survived ; and only what they pleased, after his de- 
cease. This was the magnanimous rule made by her 
neighbors, who complacently read, “ woe unto them 
who devour widows’ houses, and for a pretense, make 
long prayers.” One of the sons of James Went- 
worth whose dutiful affection for his father’s sister 
constrained him to journey from Boston to attend the 
obsequies of her husband, though never having 
visited or corresponded with her before, was appointed 
administrator of that aunt’s affairs ; probably because 

of the interest he manifested in them while in L , 

as “ mourner” for his uncle’s death. As the old 
Wentworth lands, on which Mrs. Grant now lived, 
lay adjoining those of the present judge, and would 
be very desirable, could the present incumbents be 
induced to leave, the court felt assured that between 
the interest it felt, and that supposed to be felt by 
John Wentworth, Jr., the latter holding his principle 
interests in Boston, and administering under the 
direction of said court, the estate could be settled in 
a manner “ satisfactory to the demands of justice.” 

Sarah was of age, and Seth, the only minor, was in 
as convenient a place as any above ground, for the 
settlement desired. But no doubt that this minor 
still lived was expressed during the life of Dr. Phelps, 


212 


Was it an Inheritance t 


and no final settlement could be made till his majority, 
or demise. But the most pure and valuable life must 
terminate, and in less than one year from the inci- 
dents related in the beginning of this chapter, this 
venerable man was gathered to his fathers ; full of 
years and of good works ; rich in moral and intel- 
lectual culture, and in the experiences of Christian 
beneficence ; having added much to the stores of sci- 
ence, and the happiness of all who knew him. While 
ministering to the suffering poor, he contracted a dis- 
ease by the agency of which he was transported to his 
reward. Herod gave command that at his death one 
should be slain in every family, that the land might 
mourn; but when Dr. Phelps died, it was said he 

had saved a life in every family in L , therefore 

all the people mourned and wept, and the scientific 
world also owned its loss. 

But what can express the loss his stricken family 
sustained? The sisters, Mollie and Nannie, under 
the weight of years and trials, were drawn together 
by bands that seemed ever shortening. 

“What should I ever have done if removed from 
your cociety and sympathy ?” Nannie had often said 
to her sister, when suffering under deep afflictions; 
and now it was hers to return the kind offices she 
had so often received. 

The loss of her husband was a sore affliction to 
Mrs. Phelps, yet it was to have been expected. 

“As a shock of corn fully ripe,” he had been gath- 
ered in. 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


213 


Peacefully and quietly he had passed away, amid 
the kind and tearful offices of friends and neighbors, 
who loved and revered him. 

Why should she repine ? 

How could she weep for her temporary loss, when 
she knew it necessary to his attainment of infinite 
and eternal gain ? 

So she laid her hand calmly upon the cold brow, 
and said, “ Peace to thee, dear dust; for the soul that 
has fled this chamber has been ushered into the courts 
of endless peace.” 

When clouds hang on our one hand, and the bright, 
clear sunlight streams from the other — its rays leap 
past us, and paint upon that hanging darkness the 
blessed bow of God’s promise. 

When those same clouds and sun hang o’er our 
heads, our work-day world is clad in gloom. 

But when they hang together near the horizon — be 
it the twilight of our rising or our rest, and light’s 
winged arrows pierce through the humid screen ; not 
smiting us upon our crowns, but passing onward still 
above us, we gaze upon the bonfire of nature’s 
jubilee. 

Those rays that shone unchanged , through all their 
seeming change , are by the very medium that would 
intercept them, analyzed and glorified ; and the bank 
of wet blackness, that would have hung a pall above 
the birth or death of day, becomes a regal robe ; and 
even where it doubles its dark folds, the glory of the 
brightness shining through, changes the darksome 


214 


Was it an Inheritance f 


hue to the purple of royalty, lit here and there with 
tongues of flame. 

And so profuse the day-god’s wealth and grace, 
that far away beyond the outskirts of the courts he 
has transformed from sombre poverty to gorgeous 
wealth, the silvery fringe he flings upon the trains of 
the retreating hosts, hints of rich spectacles beyond 
our vision’s reach. 

So when the sun-light of our Father’s love shines 
past, and lights upon the thunder-cloud o’erhanging 
some other soul, we see His promise written there, 
abiding, sure. 

But when the clouds of black affliction hang above 
our heads, they then refract but to confuse the light 
of the Revealer of all hearts. 

But when they change again, and tears and God 
are seen associate, the richness of his love shines 
through the briny veil, and, analyzed and glorified, 
those tears appear the richest wealth — the fairest robe 
the soul e’er knew. And then we also see that that 
same wealth which made us rich towards God, be- 
cause his heirs, may bless, through our affliction, other 
sorrowing souls, though far removed and never seen. 

And as, where’er earth’s primal luminary shines on 
a darkening cloud, the neutral tint of day resolves 
again into its elements for the inspection of some 
mortal eyes, even though the eyes beneath see naught 
but gloom; so when evil, wrong, attempts to shut 
truth from our vision ; when afflictions would misrep- 
resent divine beneficence, they do but set its glories 


215 


Or, Nannie Gi'ant . 

forth; and, soon or late, the angle of our vision will 
present the view Faith’s eagle eye beheld aforetime, 
from her eyrie far above the clouds. 

And blest are they whose faith has learned to 
soar, and pierce those heights and depths; for 
they abide, as did sweet Mollie Phelps, in “the per- 
petual glory of the Lord — in the pavilion of our 
God” 


216 


Was it an Inheritance f 


CHAPTER XIII. 

IN THE DARKNESS. 

“ HV /PISS Knowlton, Mamma wanted me to ask 

1 V I if you would come to our house to board, 
next week ; and she would like to have you come to- 
night, if convenient.” 

It was a young girl of thirteen years, who spoke, 
and she addresed the “ district school-teacher,” who 
was, perhaps, five years her senior. 

The countenance of the teacher indicated a sensi- 
tive, sympathetic disposition ; and the gaze, on leav- 
ing it, involuntarily returned, drawn by the magnetism 
of her large dark eyes, in which could be seen — 
almost heard — the crying of a hungry soul. 

“ Yes ; I can come this evening, and next week too, 
unless Mrs. Goodrich prefers that my three-week’s 
boarding with her, should be consecutive. I had 
rather improve this fine weather, in boarding at the 
distant places.” 

“ Then, Frank, run home and tell Mamma that the 
teacher will come to-night,” said the first speaker to 
her brother, her face beaming with pleasure; and 
away he ran in the same happy mood. 

The young girl was fair, both in complexion and 
person ; and, though reared in the “ back- woods,” had 


Or, Nannie Grant 


193 


Great was her rejoicing and thanksgiving that the 
dear child that had been so near the grave, which had 
already robbed her of so many beloved friends, stood 
again beside her. 

“ Oh, my son !” said Mrs. Grant, u may it prove to 
be for some good and noble work that you are 
spared.” 

Though lingering long, his recovery came at last ; 
but not till the cheek of the dying Autumn burned 
with the hectic flush, presaging speedy dissolution, 
did he return to the city. For years thereafter, his 
friends were ignorant of the cause of his antipathy to 
the prescription of Uncle Phelps and Ruth, sustained 
as it was by the advice of so eminent a physician as 
Dr. S. . 

While fever held him in its embrace, it brought 
before him, again and again, the horrible tragedy of 
his brother’s death. When Dr. J first men- 

tioned brandy as a necessary stimulant, those memo- 
ries returned with such vividness as brought a relapse 
for several days. This, which was really the result 
of mental excitement, he was assured was the natural 
consequence of the lack of the stimulant that had 
been ordered ; and as Miss Phelps did not procure it, 
the doctor brought the brandy and administered it 
with his own hand. 

Ruth seated herself beside the bed one morning, 
and taking her cousin’s wasted hand in hers, quietly re- 
hearsed the horrible tale he had revealed in his ravings ; 

but without mentioning names or giving authority. He 
9 


194 


Was it an Inheritance ? 


looked searchingly in her face, and asked : 11 Where 
did you hear that story ?” 

“ An insane man told it to me.” 

He closed his eyes, and lay a long time without a 
word. Since his father’s death, none of his relatives 
had known the fearful facts, and he fully intended 
they should never torture another, or disgrace his 
brother’s memory. What his reasonings or conclu- 
sions were, he never told, but he denied the truths 
delirium had betrayed, and from that time forth he 
would take the brandy — probably, to convince his 
nurse that no such terrible experience had warned 
him against it, and that his ravings about the death 
of George, were solely the concoctions of a delirious 
brain. 

Dr. Phelps was highly venerable in appearance, 
and though counting his years more than three-score 
and ten, was still hale and active. His hair lay on 
his shoulders, white as wool ; his clear and penetrating 
eye gave evidence of a mind enriched by the experi- 
ences of years, yet unimpaired by their weight. His 
face was lit with real pleasure at the unexpected meet- 
ing, as his daughter introduced her traveling acquaint- 
ance, Dr. S . 

The gentlemen highly enjoyed their short chat 
while crossing the river. 

Dr. S remarked, “I have been deeply in- 

terested in my conversation with your daughter. I 
must acknowledge, I have never met a person I 
thought better adapted to the practice of medicine 


Or } Nannie Grant. 


105 


than she. Tell me, sir, is it the result of an educa- 
tional bias, or is it constitutional ? If the latter, do 
you consider it normal ? I ask because I think it so 
very remarkable in a woman.” 

“ It is nature, aided by education demanded by that 
nature. I think it perfectly normal, in itself and in 
its antecedents; and that such natures are no more 
rare among women than among men; indeed, per- 
haps, the contrary is true ; but it rarely occurs that 
such women have the opportunities for cultivation 
that Ruth has enjoyed.” 

“If you are not mistaken, then I say, ‘ success to 
the Woman’s College/ for the world needs physicians, 
and it is over-run with quacks .” 

“I wish you could stop with me till to-morrow; 
can you not?” said Dr. Phelps, as the boat neared 
the shore. “ Or at least till the next train,” as his 
friend hesitated. “ Let us compare notes a little while, 
I’m sure it would benefit me, and it may my patients.” 

“ It would give me great pleasure, and I think I 
will stop over till the next train,” said the gentleman 
addressed. 


196 


Was it an Inheritance f 


CHAPTER XII. 


IS IT GOOD? 



IHE ladies, with the invalid, took seats in Dr. 


JL Phelps’ carriage, and the two doctors walked 
arm-in-arm to the village. Hills, rocks and sand 
were alike unnoticed by them, so absorbed were they 
in discussions relating to their profession. 

“ I have long wished for such an opportunity to 
converse with you concerning your investigations of 
the effect of alcohol upon the human system,” said Dr. 
Phelps ; “ so I beg you will excuse me for introducing 
the subject so abruptly, as our time will be very short.” 

“No apology is necessary. I shall be happy to 
exchange thoughts and facts with you upon that sub- 
ject. My observations in that direction have made it 
intensely interesting to me,” Dr. S replied. 

“ I have given it much thought , but as my field of 
observation is much more limited than yours, I have 
been mainly confined to reason and speculation. You 
have given me, in common with the rest of the world, 
many valuable facts as the results of your numerous 
post-mortem examinations, which show beyond a doubt 
the fearful havoc alcohol makes upon its victims. I 


197 


Or, Nannie Grant . 

think you have stated that you have certain evidence 
that it causes disease of every organ in the body?” * 

“ Not an organ escapes its baleful effects,” said the 
college-president, solemnly. 

“ How many cases have you examined?” 

“ About three hundred.” 

“ All died drunkards, did they?” 

“ Yes ; either from, or under the effects of liquor.” 

“ Not a healthy one among them?” 

“No, not one; and nearly all masses of disease.” 

“ But these were all drunkards. How with mod- 
erate drinkers ?” 

“ I recognize no such thing as ‘ moderation 7 in the 
use of a beverage of poison, for in the man who sips 
his wine or takes his grog daily, but in such quantities 
as are usually called moderate, the lining membrane 
of the stomach always becomes red and inflamed, and 
the blood-vessels of the inner surface are so far en- 
larged as to be visible to the naked eye (as you know 
very well they never are in health), distended with 
blood.” 

“What is the appearance of the drunkard’s stomach ?” 

“ The mucous coat is in a state of irritation, with 
blotches like rum-blossoms on it, and very frequently 
corroded with small ulcers which are covered with 
white crusts, with the margins of the ulcers elevated 
and rugged.” 

“ I suppose a spree aggravates this ? ” 

* These statements are those of Dr. Sewell, of Columbia 
College, D. C. 


198 


Was it an Inheritance f 


“Yes; then the stomach shows a high degree of 
inflammation extending over the whole surface, chang- 
ing its color to deep red, and in some points exhibiting 
a livid appearance.” 

“ Did you ever dissect a subject who died of de- 
lirium tremens?” 

“ A large number ; and I always found such stom- 
achs very much thickened and swollen, leaving but a 
small cavity for food, and this lined with a dark- 
brown, flaky substance, which was grumous hlood y that 
had oozed out of the sores and cancers of the inflamed 
surface; and when this was removed, the stomach 
looked quite dark, like an incipient state of morti- 
fication.” 

“Then you would discountenance its use in any 
quantity?” 

“ As I would that of any poison, for if the morbid 
effects are in some degree various in different indi- 
viduals — if they are not developed with the same 
degree of power and rapidity in one case as in an- 
other — it is nevertheless true that alcohol is a poison 
forever at war with man’s nature, and in all its forms 
and degrees of strength produces irritation of the 
stomach, which is liable to result in inflammation, 
ulceration, and mortification, a thickening and indu- 
ration of its coats, and, finally, scirrhus, cancer, and 
other organic affections ; and it may be asserted with 
confidence, that no one who indulges habitually in 
the use of alcoholic drinks, whether in the form of 


Or, Nannie Grant. 199 

wine or the more ardent spirits, possesses a healthy 
stomach.” 

“Well, so far as my practice enlightens me, it 
would go to corroborate your statements : and with a 
diseased stomach, we know that the rest of the system 
cannot be in a healthful condition. What a fearful 
statement that of Dr. Ogle’s is, — he had examined 
one hundred and forty-three drunkards’ bodies, and 
found over one hundred of their hearts softened by 
‘ fatty degeneracy,’ and the other organs in a state 
of disease similar to what you have described. Do 
you read the British Medical Journal, published at 
London ? I suppose you do.” 

“ Yes, but what have you seen there?” 

* “ Dr. Markham’s i grand practical conclusions/ 
as he calls the summing up of a debate recently pub- 
lished in his columns.” 

“ And what are they ?” 

“ 1st. That alcohol is not food ; and that being 
simply a stimulant (irritant), its use is hurtful to a 
healthy person. 

“ 2d. If the use of it be ever of service, it is so only 
to a man in an abnormal condition ; and that our 
duty, as medical men, is to find out what those 
abnormal conditions are. He seems to doubt whether 
it ought to be used even as a medicine.” 

“ Dr. Higginbottom is quite positive on that score,” 

said Dr. S , “ and you know his connection with 

the Boyal College of Surgeons of England gives his 
* Alcohol and its Effects. By Dr. Story, page 159. 


200 


Was it an Inheritance f 


opinion great weight. He has practiced sixty years, 
and has just published a work in which he says : 
‘ Alcohol has no specific effect on any organ of the 
body, for the cure of any disease/ Of course we 
knew this, but he goes so far as to say : * On the con- 
trary, the taking of it is a principal cause of disease. 
Every disease is aggravated by it , and many are gen- 
erated by the use of it. I consider it impious/ says 
he, ‘ in any medical man to say that any constitution 
requires alcoholic stimulants/ 

“ The profession are moving in the right direction, 
for even if it is demanded in some cases, the world 
had far better lose the small benefit of its use, than 
sustain the weight of evils that now flow from it ; and 
as long as we prescribe it at all, unprincipled quacks 
will recommend it for every ill, and people ignorant 
of all hygienic laws, will take it by their own pre- 
scriptions.” 

* “ Its effect is always that of an irritant and a 
poison. It does not contain any of the elements of 
food, and, therefore, is not useful in developing mus- 
cle, nor bone, nor blood, nor brain, but is an absolute 
injury to all parts. It dissolves the juices of the 
body, and hinders and prevents digestion. It cer- 
tainly should never be used in chronic diseases, and 
if in cases of great prostration, it should be adminis- 
tered with great care.” 

“ I have become deeply interested in another phase 
of the subject,” said Dr. Phelps, “ and that is the 
(* Ibid.) 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


201 


transmission of alcoholic poison to offspring: and 
the brain being the organ of the mind, and the nerves 
a continuation of the brain, it becomes a question in 
ethics, as well as in physiology, when diseases so pro- 
duced are merged into what theologians call c deprav- 
ity/ and when depravity is the result of transmitted 
disease produced by alcoholic stimulation, where does 
the responsibility for the misdeeds of its victims rest ? 
There is an illustration in the family of my wife’s 
sister. I will tell you about it when we are settled 
in my library.” 

They entered the house, and after Dr. S had 

been presented to Mrs. Phelps, the gentlemen with- 
drew to the library to discuss professional matters. 

“ The sun is very hot ; I think the hottest I have 
seen it this year. Take this arm-chair near the win- 
dow, please. Here is a fan ; now make yourself com- 
fortable.” 

“Ah! this breeze is splendid, delightful, no need 
of a fan; no, thank you. You were about to tell 
meof your wife’s family, or rather of that of her 
sister.” 

“ Yes, so I was. Well, my wife’s mother was a 
person of good constitution, and good health in early 
life; gentle and refined in manners and disposition, 
of strong imagination, great moral power, perfect self- 
control and undoubted piety. Her husband, my 
wife’s father, was a sea-captain of good habits, un- 
impeachable character, and I believe abstained en- 
tirely from the use of alcoholic drinks. He was a 


202 


Was it an Inheritance f 


very cautious man, and thought it safer not to drink 
spirituous liquors at all. He was lost at sea, and for 
years his wife was ignorant of his fate. This preyed 
upon her mind to such an extent that her health suf- 
fered in some degree — a letting down of the nervous 
energies you know. For this she took by prescrip- 
tion of her physician, a small quantity of some kind 
of alcoholic liquor every morning for years. 

Among my wife’s earliest recollections is that of 
carrying the wine-bottle and glass to her mother in 
the mornings while she was yet in bed. She did not 
appear to have acquired any e taste ’ for the liquors, 
and after some years she discontinued the practice 
from a conviction that they aggravated, if they had 
not produced, a difficulty of the heart. During this 
period she became the wife of Judge Wentworth and 
the mother of Mrs. Grant.” 

“Ah! Judge Wentworth? I knew him. An 
honored man.” 

“ Yes, a man of good mind; but the wrong one 
for my mother-in-law. His nature was not sym- 
pathetic, he was a cold-hearted man, but she was of 
the long-suffering sort, and I suppose no one except 
my wife knew but that all was pleasant and agreeable 
between them. She dropped away from life without 
a moment’s warning. Heart disease. 

Mrs. Grant was always an excitable being, as un- 
like as could be to father, mother, or any other 
relative. Amiable and affectionate in her disposition, 
her impulses are usually good, yet she greatly lacks 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


203 


the power of self-control, for which both her parents 
were remarkable, as is also her half-sister, my wife, 
who was her chief and inseparable companion in 
early life, and indeed has been to the present time. 
Observe, that I say ‘th q power of self-control/ Not 
that she was violent and ungovernable in the usual 
sense, for she was highly sympathetic and impress- 
ible by strong natures, like my wife’s for instance. 
She displayed few violent outbreaks of temper, be- 
cause her impulses being good needed little control ; 
and she was fortunate in the strong natures that sur- 
rounded, influenced and calmed her. The Hon. 
Wm Grant was her husband, you may have met 
him.” 

“I think I have. Was he not a member of Con- 
gress from this district? I think I met him in 
Washington.” 

“ Undoubtedly. He was ‘a member from this 
district/ He was so fond of his wine, that he never 
denied himself his glass at dinner, though one of his 
sons died of mania a potu , (a most horrible death, 
too ;) and another was several times intoxicated before 
he was seventeen years of age, and quarrelled with 
his father on that account, taunting him with having 
made him a drunkard ; and at that age left for parts 
unknown ; and though once, for a short time, Mr. 
Grant did remove the decanter from his sideboard and 
table, for the sake of the son who died in delirium, 
even then it was well-known to all the family that 
he did not abstain; and he soon resumed its use 


204 Was it an Inheritance f 

at table, and continued it till the day of his 
death.” 

“Are these you have mentioned all of his chil- 
dren ?” 

“ No. The eldest is, like his father, a moderate 
drinker, and may continue such ; I have no idea he 
will ever become a ‘ tee-totaler,’ but it is easy to see 
that his nervous constitution is less sound, and he 
will not last under the drinking system, as his father 
did. He has one son whom I have never seen, but 
the father writes that he is an anomaly ; unlike either 
his wife or her Quaker ancestors, or his father and 
the Grants. Though appearing to possess what 
would be called a sound mind, he is very excitable, 
and seems entirely destitute of the power of calming 
or controlling himself under excitement.” 

“ The grandmother’s weakness exaggerated, I 
should think.” 

“ So it seems to me. Mr. Grant’s oldest daughter 
lives in the west, and I know nothing of her, or her 
family. The second son, (except one who died in 
infancy — a puny child from its birth,) died of mania, 
as I have told you. He had rare talents, but narrow 
prejudices to which he clung with great tenacity. 
Though, when contemplating any exposition of truth, 
he seemed to have a clear apprehension of it, under- 
standing its force and bearing, he had no more strength 
than an infant, to stand by that conviction, as against 
habit. He was the veriest slave of habit; and his intel- 
lect, which was no mean power, looked on its chains 


Or, Nannie Grant. 217 

the air of a village maiden, in strong contrast with 
her associates. 

The foregoing conversation occurred in a small 
school-house, in what was then a new settlement in 
western Pennsylvania. The old method then in 
vogue, of requiring district school-teachers to “ board 
around” among the pupils, made him or her either 
an honored guest, or an incumbrance among the fami- 
lies of the district. 

Sometimes a strife as to who should entertain the 
teacher most, sprung up between families, when it 
became difficult to avoid giving offence; and occa- 
sionally an unpopular teacher found it necessary to 
ask an invitation. But such emergencies were 
usually met by the “ The Board of Trustees,” who 
apportioned the boarding according to the num- 
ber of children sent from each family, and wise 
pedigogues usually adopted this method, voluntarily. 
But, though Miss Knowlton had no dearth of appli- 
cations for her presence in the homes of her pupils, 
this invitation was peculiarly pleasing, as she had 
never met the parents of the Sacket children; and 
the three daughters and one son that comprised its 
contribution to the little flock, with which she spent 
eight hours of each of five-and-a-half days of every 
week, were, to her, the most interesting children in 
the neighborhood. 

When the hour for closing the afternoon session 
arrived, she gladly undertook the walk of one-and- 
a-half miles, notwithstanding her already existing 
10 


218 


Was it an Inheritance f 


fatigue. The way lay mostly along a forest-road, 
made vocal by the chirping of squirrels, the songs of 
birds, and the humming of wild bees. 

Miss Knowlton was wearied in mind and body; 
the tastes and manners of the people by wffiom she 
was surrounded, were little in harmony with her own, 
and, though every youthful pupil w T as an interesting 
study, as well as an object of affection to her, she 
longed for greater opportunities for the development 
of her own mind. The pittance of one paltry dollar 
per week, which she received, was judged (at that 
time), by the great State of Pennsylvania, ample re- 
muneration for the performance of the official duties 
of a female teacher of “ all the common English 
branches,” during eight hours of the five-and-a-half 
school-days. To a man , not less than three times 
that amount was paid, though he might be her junior 
in age, education and experience. 

Having no assistance from any one, and receiving 
this princely sum of two and one-seventh cents per hour , 
surely the prospect of pursuing her education, in 
books, at least, was dark enough ! With a sense of 
these difficulties weighing upon her spirits, she toiled 
along the rough road, vainly trying to cheer herself 
by listening to the voices of the wild animals in the 
wood, as well as those of the two little girls, that held 
her hands on either side, and who knew little more 
of the world than the birds whose notes they tried to 
imitate. 

“Cheeher, cheeher ! did you ever thea my Ma?” asked 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


219 


chubby little Addie, as she trudged along, her little 
bare feet, picking for the smooth spots between the 
stones and roots. 

“ Why, no, Addie,” said Tamer, who was two years 
her senior, though, herself, but five years old. 
“Don’t you remember Ma told Clemmie she must 
come along and introduce her ?” 

“Oh yeth! Ifordot.” 

“No, Addie, I never saw her. That will be a 
new pleasure,” (in a desperate search for pleasures.) 
“ What makes you ask ? ” 

“ ’Cause I’s going to tell you thea maketh me think 
o’ you,” added the little lisper. 

“ Oh ! why ! Addie, Addie ! ” laughed both the 
older sisters. “ Mamma and the teacher look alike ! 
Oh, Addie ! where do you see the resemblance?” 

Thereupon her three-years-old ladyship began to 
cry* 

“ Oh, don’t cry, please ; we didn’t mean to hurt 
your feelings. Maybe ’tis so, only we didn’t see it. 
Tell us now, so we can. Now Ma is tall, and Miss 
Knowlton is not ; Ma has brown eyes, and she has 
blue ; and then Ma is so much older, and their teeth 
are not a bit alike.” 

“ I said the cheecher made me think of Ma, and 
thee dooth,” persisted Addie. 

“So does any woman, doesn’t she?” said Clem- 
ment-ine. 

“ No, she doothent. Mitheth Henry, nor Mitheth 
Gray, nor Mitheth Goodrith, nor Mitheth Branth, 


220 


Was it an Inheritance f 


don’t make me think of Ma, nor of the cheecher 
neever ; for the cheecher thayth ‘ come here, Addie, 
pleathe just as Ma doothe ; and not c Addie, come 
here !’ ” (in a stern, commanding tone.) 

All enjoyed a hearty laugh, and Addie’s discrimi- 
nation was commended. 

A “ slashing” now lay at their right hand. It 
had lain for years as the timber was left by the 
woodman’s axe, that ceased when the trees were 
felled, without ever finishing “the clearing.” A 
second growth of timber, irregular, bushy, and prom- 
ising no future value, had sprung up around the 
stumps and among the logs. Passing some acres of 
this waste land, the house was at length visible — a 
long, low log shanty, its roof scarcely rising above 
the confused mass of logs and foliage. 

At length they came to a place where the land had 
been cleared, and a garden and small plat of corn 
planted. The remainder of the clearing, embracing 
some fifty acres or more, was covered with rank 
weeds. 

A set of bars served for a gate. These the children 
“ let down,” and the teacher passed up the path. She 
observed that grass was growing upon the old flat 
roof of the shanty, and the stove-pipe that projected 
from it, its only chimney, w T as rust-eaten and porous. 

But white muslin curtains fluttered at the windows, 
which were of the ordinary size, but placed upon the 
side on account of the lowness of the structure. The 
yard was tidy, and the boards that lay for paths 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


221 


about the door were scrubbed clean and white. The 
dwelling stood with its end towards the road, but 
the entrance was at the middle of its side, and di- 
rectly opposite it, the well ; a few feet in the rear of 
which, and near the corner of the “ shanty,” was an- 
other structure of smaller dimensions, in which milk, 
butter, flour, meat, and vegetables were kept, and 
though entirely above ground, was called by the 
family “ the cellar.” 

A large rocking-chair stood near the open door. 
Mrs. Sacket advanced to meet her guest with a smile 
of welcome, and Clemmie said, “ Mother, this is Miss 
Knowlton, our teacher.” A cordial grasp of the 
hand was followed by an invitation to be seated in 
the arm-chair by the door, as that was the coolest 
place. 

The afternoon was warm, and the kettle was on 
for tea, with a brisk chip-fire burning in the clean, 
though unpolished stove. A wide window, but two 
panes in height, extended over a high shelf nearly 
behind the stove, and the casement was open. Seated 
opposite, as she was, our young lady thought the 
view of the “ slashing” beyond not unpicturesque. 

Her hostess was quite tall and slender, and at the 
side of the house where the ceiling was lowest, she 
was obliged to stoop. This had the effect to increase 
her seeming height, which was really not ungraceful. 

There were no partitions throughout the entire 
house, but it was divided by curtains into three sleep- 
ing apartments and a kitchen, which served also as 


222 


Was it an Inheritance f 


nursery, parlor, dining-room and sitting-room. These 
curtains were now looped back to give the air circula- 
tion. 

It is a matter of little moment how these women 
became acquainted with each other, by what signals 
their souls learned that they were kindred, but it is 
true that they were that night surprised into a recol- 
lection of the duties of the coming day, and the rest 
necessary to their performance, by the sound of the 
old clock in the front bed-room, tolling one. 

The “gudeman” of the house was away, and 
would be for a week or more, so it was arranged that 
Miss Knowlton should keep Mrs. Sacket company 
during his absence; and whoever might have been 
belated on that lonely road during the following 
week, would have seen the rare spectacle of the 
watcher’s burning lamp in that lowly home. But 
the sickness over which they watched was not of the 
body ; it was the suffering affections and starving 
intellect. 

What a blessing that two hearts, tossed by tempta- 
tion, worn by anxieties, oppressed by cares, and even 
disheartened by fruitless endeavors and weighed 
down by poverty, can, by unburdening these dis- 
quietudes to each other, be cheered, comforted, 
strengthened. 

Such was the experience of these two women, not- 
withstanding the disparity in their years; their hearts 
melted together as one. 

The teacher’s story was short as her years were 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


223 


few. She was orphaned, half by death, half by a 
second marriage ; and because the new parent held a 
position of honor and respectability, all short-comings 
and unkindness must be borne in silence. 

How her heart longed for love, and her intellect 
for food, we need not attempt to repeat. 

“ Of course I abandoned all idea of acquiring any 
further book-learning by study when I married,” 
said Mrs. Sacket, “but I did expect some opportu- 
nities for improvement. But here I have been 
buried in these woods for years. All my children 
except Clemmie were born here, and here they have 
been reared, so far. I am sometimes glad that they 
are all girls except one, because I can have them 
more immediately under my own influence ; but then 
I think they will marry bye and bye, and their future 
will be as much beyond their control as my past has 
been beyond mine, and will probably be like it. 
And brought up here — seeing no young men but 
such as we see here — they will accept such, ( who will 
be their equals) or remain single; and what means for 
self-support could they find here ? There seem to be 
barely five occupations for women — to teach (at your 
wages,) to sew, to do domestic work, to marry, or to 
live on father and attend to other people’s business; 
and the chances are very rare for any of these things 
here. I’ve fought a desperate battle to keep but a 
fragment of the little knowledge of the world I 
brought here with me. I’ve read the few books that 
I brought from home, over and over and over again, 


224 


Was it an Inher itance f 


not only to get their ideas but to get the language; 
and I’ve repeated passages which I have committed 
to memory aloud for hours together, to familiarize 
my ears to good language which they would other- 
wise never hear. Some of our school-teachers use no 
better grammar than the veriest cow-boy in the 
country. 

“ I once had friends who were cultivated and re- 
fined.” She opened a drawer of a large bureau, her 
only one, and took from the bottom of the back part 
of it, a folded paper, and opening it, produced an 
album in exquisite binding, and bringing her specta- 
cles, pored over the contents of many a page where 
the hand of friendship and love had written senti- 
ments of affection, while proud to record the name of 
the writer as that of the friend of one so honored. 

“Oh!” said she, “shall I never hear from them 
again?” and a gush of tears choked her utterance. 
Presently, she added, “ I cannot understand why my 
friends do not write to me; I have written repeatedly, 
and not a word have I received in reply. The last I 
heard from them, was when F rank was one year old. 
It does seem as if I was cast off by my family.” 

Miss Knowlton reflected. “ What was the spirit 
of the last letter they wrote you — was it kindly?” 

“ Oh, yes, indeed !” 

Clemmie came to her mother’s side, and putting 
her arm about her neck, said, “Mother, I’m afraid 
Aunt Sarah is dead, and maybe Aunt Lucy, for I 
know one of them would write.” 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


225 


“Are they on friendly terms with Mr. Sacket? 
(Excuse me if I seem to be impertinent).” 

“None of them objected to our marriage, and they 
always seemed to like Fred. All of them did, I 
think. Father would have been better pleased if I 
had fancied another young man who seemed to fancy 
me, but he did not care much ; and I am certain that 
is not why he is silent now.” 

The teacher reflected again. 

“This is Thursday. Suppose you write a letter to 
some of them, and I will take it to the Post-Office on 
my way home, to-morrow night?” 

“Why should I mock my heart again? They are 
all either dead or moved away.” 

“Write to the Post-Master then,” suggested Miss 
Knowlton, “Your family was once so prominent 
there, that you can hear from them at once in that 
way ; and you might have the answer addressed to 
me, if you wish — that is, if you think that would 
give you any better chance of a reply.” 

So the letter was written and posted, and the an- 
swer awaited in great anxiety. It came after what 
seemed a long delay. Neither Frank nor Clemmen- 
tine being at school that day, the teacher accompanied 
the little ones home at its close. 

“You have an answer,” said Mrs. Sacket, the in- 
stant she saw the teacher. 

“ Why do you think so ?” 

“ I see it all over your face. Give it to me, quick !” 

“ Not while your face has no more color than it has 
10 * 


226 


Was it an Inheritance f 


now. You see the envelope has my name on it; now 
ought I not to have the first reading of it ?” 

“ Oh, give it to me !” 

“ Since my curiosity is second only to yours, give 
the credit I have earned, please, that I did not read 
it long ago. 

“ Think what I have undergone to-day with this in 
my pocket, and you did not even feel interest enough 
to send one of the children to school for it, when you 
knew I would think it too precious to trust to the 
hands of little Tamer.” 

“I did not expect it, or, at least, I tried not to, 
though I do not know which would have been the 
greater surprise — to receive it or not to receive it.” 

“Sit down and let me read it to you.” 

“ No ! no ! Hannah, I must read it.” 

Having produced sufficient diversion of her feel- 
ings, Miss Knowlton relinquished the claim and the 
letter. 

It ran as follows — 

“ Madam : 

“Your father and uncle are dead. What 
remains of the Grant family, are gone to New York 

City to live; Street, I believe; and your 

uncle’s family are in Philadelphia. I can give you 
no further information regarding them. 

“ Yours, respectfully, 

“ , P. M.” 

She leaned her head upon a table near her, and 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


227 


wept silently some moments. “ Dead ! My dear 
father dead — I know not how long ago — and no 
word sent to me. Dead ! and this man does not even 
tell me when or how he went. ‘ What remains of 
the Grant family ?’ I left seven at home, and Wil- 
liam at sea ; and now he tells me * what remains of the 
Grant family have gone to New York/ Who are 
taken — and who are left? Is my dear mother living? 

Why did they go to New York? ‘ Live on 

Street, he believes !’ and no number. I must write 
again to L , and to New York, and to Phila- 

delphia ; but I shall not know whether I am direct- 
ing to the living or the dead.” She did write — and 
many times — but years brought her no reply. 

Summer passed and winter came, and Miss Knowl- 
ton, successful in instilling into the minds of her 
pupils a portion of her own thirst for knowledge, was 
again employed to teach the youth of F . 

As February and March were the coldest months 
in the year, the three-months’ term of school com- 
menced early, to avoid their extreme severity. 

One dismal, rainy afternoon in November, Tamer 
and Addie were spatting, with naked feet, along the 
muddy road towards home. Addie, who would have 
appreciated luxury, had she any idea what it was like, 
was whimpering over cold toes, and because her arms 
were getting wet through the old shawl she wore 
about them ; and Tamer, full of energy, and hope, 
and practical good sense, no less than of sympathy 


228 


Was it an Inheritance f 


and poetic thought, was finding consolation in dis- 
cussing everything she saw. 

(i Arn’t your toes cold, Tamer ? ” whined the little 
one. 

“ Oh ! yes, they’re cold ; but then I shall have my 
new shoes next week, Pa said, and then they won’t be 
cold. And then you’ll have your new shoes, too. 
Won’t that be nice! Then your toes won’t be cold, 
nor wet either.” 

“ But they’re cold now.” 

“ Oh, well, never mind that ; we shall get home 
pretty soon, and Mamma’ll have a nice fire, and we 
shall get as warm and dry as toast.” 

But Addie kept on whimpering. 

“ I guess you’d better stay from school till you get 
your shoes, your feet get so cold,” said the elder sister, 
sympathetica! ly . 

“ No ! I don’t want to stay from school,” and the 
tears began to flow in good earnest. 

“ Oh, sister, don’t cry ! ” and Tamer took her little 
wet apron to wipe away the tears. 

“ Oh, see ! Addie, it hails ! ” and she picked one of 
the largest hail-stones from the grass, and put it into 
Addie’s mouth. “ Oh, see the little snow-balls jump 
into the mud-puddles ! Now what if there were 
fairies living all over the bottom of that pond, and 
when the hail-stones, which are great ice-rocks to 
them, you know, come dropping down in there, they 
hit the fairies on their heads, and then they think 
they’re shot, and hop right up, and their heads, that 


229 


Or, Nannie Grant 

have got to look just like water, because they have 
lived under water so long, their heads come right out 
of the water, and it's them we see.” 

“ But their heads would be bloody, where they was 
hurt.” 

“ Oh, but their blood has got to look just like 
water, too.” 

“ Oh, has it ? ” 

“ See ! See ! No, they’re dancing. See ! the hail 
makes such a noise when it hits, it’s nice music, such 
as the sap made when it dropped into the pan in the 
woods the other day, you know. Well, the fairies 
hear that music, and they have gone to dancing. 
Don’t they dance funny ? ” 

“ That is a nice idea, my little girl ; ” said a manly 
voice just behind her. 

She instinctively caught her sister’s hand. 

“ Whose little girl thought that ? ” A glance 
sufficed to tell her he was a stranger, and drawing her 
charge to the opposite side of the road, they resumed 
their walk at a quickened pace, and pulling her hood 
forward to hide her face if possible, Tamer did not 
reply. 

“ Do you live anywhere about here ? ” 

“ It will do no harm to answer that,” thought the 
little woman. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Whereabouts ? ” 

“ Only just a little ways.” 

“ Is this your little sister?” 


230 


Was it an Inheritance f 


“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Look up, little Sis. I think I've seen somebody 
you look like,” addressing Addie, who immediately 
complied. 

“ I should like a better sight at Miss Propriety’s 
brown eyes,” added he ; “ that is if she will grant me 
one.” 

But no, Miss Tamer was very busy looking for 
smooth places on which to set her red and aching, 
though resolute little feet. 

“ I guess you look like your father, don’t you,” 
laying his hand on Addie’s head. 

“ I don’t know,” said that young lady 

“ Your sister looks like her mother, does she not?” 

“ Miss Knowlton thays thea dothe.” 

“ Who is Miss Knowlton ? ” 

“ Thea’th the cheecher.” 

“ The what ?” 

“ The cheecher.” 

“And what may a cheecher be? Will my silent 
maiden inform me ? ” 

That was a sore trial for Tamer. She would not 
for the world be guilty of incivility; but was he not? 
Her dignity must be sustained, and this stranger was 
evidently quizzing her. 

“ Cheecher ? cheecher ? ” said he ; “ I give it up.” 

“ The school-teacher, she means.” 

“ Oh, yes. I beg pardon. I was stupid not to 
understand that. How long have you lived here ? ” 

“ Always.” 


231 


Or, Nannie Grant . 

“Ah! That is a long time. Have your father 
and mother lived here all that time ? ” 

Tamer saw her mistake, but would not retract. 

“ I guess they have lived here only about eleven or 
twelve years.” 

“Then you lived here a while before they came?” 

“No. It's 1 always ’ to us , but not always to 
them” 

“ Ah, well, that’ll do. Yes, that’ll do. Are not 
your feet cold?” 

Now Miss Tamer felt insulted. The red on her 
cheek burned to her toes, and they were no longer cold. 
“ Eh?” 

“No, sir.” 

“ You thaid they wath,” said her sister ; and thus 
reminded of the tingling of her own, she began to 
whimper again. 

“ Yours are, little one ; let me carry you,” said the 
stranger. 

“ No, sister, we can walk. We’re most home now ; ” 
and as it was impossible to carry one, without taking 
the other and reluctant one also, the gentleman 
allowed them both to walk. Addie, however, de- 
murred; and in a whining whisper said, “I don’t 
want to walk.” 

“ He’s insulting, and I don’t want to trust him,” 
whispered the eldest child. “ He might steal you and 
carry you off.” 

They soon saw their brother in the edge of the 
forest, opposite the bars, breaking brushwood for the 


232 


Was it an Inheritance f 


stove, with his axe. This gave Tamer confidence, 
and for the first time she looked their traveling com- 
panion fairly in the face, scanned his person and his 
manner a few seconds, and then ran off into the house 
in the greatest excitement. 

“ Mamma ! Mamma ! Uncle Augustus has come ! 
He has, truly , and he’s talking with Frank! Oh, 
oh, Mamma!” and taking up her apron, she pro- 
ceeded to add to its wetness a shower from her 
eyes. 

“ How do you know it is Uncle Augustus? ” 

“ I don’t know, only it looks like him.” 

“ But you never saw your uncle.” 

11 No ; but he looks some like Pa, and then I know 
it is him ! He came along with Addie and me, and 
he talked to us so that I was afraid of him, and I 
didn’t look at him till just now, and then I knew 
him right away.” 

The mother had been looking, while the child had 
been talking, and was convinced. This was her hus- 
band’s brother, and her own playmate through many 
a long summer’s day. He had a tall, commanding 
figure, a fine head and face and noble mien, and was 
well-dressed and genteel in person and carriage. 

He approached the house, and she met him at the 
door. 

“ Abbie Grant ! my brother’s wife ! ” said he, 
grasping her hand w T armly, and kissing the small 
spot on her cheek not concealed by a muffler in 
which her face was wrapped. 


233 


Or, Nannie Grant . 

u Is it possible I have found you ? And is it pos- 
sible that you are Abbie ? I could not be convinced 
of it but for your eyes.” 

“ My eyes ! ” said Mrs. Sacket, wiping the tears of 
joy from them ; “ I have thought them changed more 
than any other feature. I have cried them blind 
with homesickness ! ” 

“ You have 1 And where was Fred while you were 
doing it ? ” 

“ Oh, he couldn’t help it, and he is away teaming 
most of the time.” 

“ And is away now, Frank tells me.” 

“Yes, and he will not be home for four days 
longer.” 

“Good!” 

“ Why do you say good f I think it very unfor- 
tunate.” 

“ No ; I want to know all about his affairs, and 
intend you shall tell me before I see him. I want 
you all to move away from here, into something like 
civilization.” 

“Oh, Augustus! I wish that together we might 
get him started, but I can’t do it alone.” 

“ I won’t go away till he promises to go ; and if he 
promises, no doubt he will do it, unless he has 
greatly changed.” 

“Yes; but he will not promise.” 

“Is he so much in love with this place?” and he 
glanced at the low ceiling, bare, rough floor, and out 
of the low window, towards the second-growth, in 


234 


Was it an Inher itance t 


the great “ slashing.” “ Is he so much in love with 
this farm, that he will not leave it?” 

“No; but he owns two hundred acres here, and he 
thinks, if forced into the market, it would not bring 
its value.” 

“But what is its value? Look at the comforts it 
brings you, and I suppose it does not even bring 
these; they are the earnings of Fred, and the team. 
All the real present worth of this place is the garden ; 
the rest is prospective. These broad acres may be 
large enough to settle one or more of your children 
beside you, by-and-by ; but what consolation would 
that be, if they are ignorant dolts ? 

“The necessities of a family, are a comfortable 
house, food and clothing, schools and churches con- 
venient for the feeding and clothing of the mental 
being, and enlightened society for both parents and chil- 
dren. Does this farm bring you any of these thing ? 

“ Come here, little Miss Propriety. I agree with 
‘ the cheecher/ that you look like your mother ; and 
will you favor me with your name, now ?” 

“ But, uncle, I was afraid of you, then. My name 
is Tamer.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! and you thought I didn’t hear what 
you whispered to Addie about my manners. Ha ! ha ! 
Tamer? ‘very beautiful.’ Abbie, you should have 
given her your own name. The back-woods, even 
cannot make a dolt of her. She would work her 
way out by-and-by, but be at a g*eat disadvantage 
when she got out. 


Or, Nannie Gh'ant. 


235 


“Who would have thought, seeing Fred at twenty- 
two, that he would ever keep his family in such a 
dark hut as this. Abbie, excuse my plain expres- 
sions, but I am so much astonished. Somebody has 
not done his part, or things would be otherwise with 
you ;” he began to pace the loose, uneven floor. 

“ But you have found us at our worst, the day is 
so unfavorable. It must be a bright and cheerful 
home that looks pleasant to-day.” 

In his walk, he stumbled upon a milk-pan, which 
sat upon the floor, and was partly filled with water. 
Though this was observed by Mrs. Sacket, the 
vessel was not removed, nor, indeed, any notice what- 
ever, taken of the occurrence. Upon her lighting a 
candle, he observed numerous pans of various sizes, 
scattered about the floor, and even upon the bed near 
by; and soon discovered that they were placed there 
to catch the rain that dropped through the decayed 
roof. “ Is this healthful ?” he said, looking up at the 
wet boards, that formed the ceiling. “ What ails 
your face, Abbie?” 

a I have been suffering with my teeth for a week 
past; and one of them has ulcerated.” 

“ And you had no one but these children to care 
for you ?” 

“ To care for me ! Why, Augustus, I have them 
all to care for, and the baby has been very trouble- 
some, especially at nights ; and I have the cow to 
milk, twice a day. Tamer, go see if Frank has 
brought her up.” 


236 


Was it an Inhei'itance f 


“ You do not milk out in this rain, do you?” 

“ The cow is restless, and I am afraid of her in the 
little hovel that is our only barn, and so I prefer to 
take the rain.” 

“And with that ulcerating tooth? Why cannot 
Frank milk ?” 

“ He has a sore finger ; and keeping us in wood 
has been quite severe enough upon it.” 

“ Does he chop it all ?” 

“He has chopped and picked it all up for the 
past two years.” 

Augustus paced the floor again, with his chin upon 
his breast. 

“Why have you not written us? It’s — I don’t 
know how many years since we have had a letter 
from you.” 

“ I have written any number of letters, to different 
members of my family, and to you, and received 
none in reply. You had moved, you know.” 

“ And I never got your address right.” 

“Augustus, what do you know of my father’s 
family?” 

“ I moved from L but two years after you 

did, but have heard from there occasionally.” 

He then related the leading facts of their history 
with which the reader is already acquainted. He 
had not learned of the removals of which the post- 
master had written, as he had received no word from 
that village during the last two years. Upon de- 
liberation they concluded that Mrs. Grant and Sarah 


Or, Nannie Grant 237 

must have gone to New York to make their home 
with William, as Augustus had learned that he had 
removed from Philadelphia to that city. What had 
induced Aunt Mollie and Ruth to make Philadelphia 
their home, was beyond their conjecture. 

Augustus Sacket was wealthy, and the president of 
a company that proposed to colonize a township in 
the new Territory of Wisconsin early in the follow- 
ing spring. They would take their pastors and 
school teachers with them, and only such persons 
and families as they chose, embracing the trades and 
occupations demanded by the settlement. 

Thus they secured all the pecuniary advantages of 
first-settlers, and experienced few of their inconveni- 
ences. By much persuasion Fred Sacket was at length 
induced to join the colony, and in due time the two 
hundred acres were sold for six hundred dollars cash. 
The team, and a few household treasures were taken 
along, when, to the joy of the whole family they 
bade adieu to the forest-home. 

“ Never need be a better hearted man or a better 
worker than Fred Sacket, : ” his neighbors said, “but 
he must have a ‘ boss / He never could work alone 
nor plan his labor, though he looked as if he might, 
and he certainly could give a good many valuable 
hints to the ‘boss.’” 

He did seem sadly deficient in self-confidence and 
executive ability. He had been reared by a childless 
uncle, who, without intentional unkindness gave him 
no intimations of his plans or purposes for present or 


238 


Was it an Inher itance f 


future time. “All I ask of you, Frederick,” he was 
accustomed to say, “is to be faithful in what I set 
you about, and then trust to my honesty;” and the 
honest, whole-souled boy had obeyed, but developed 
only the abilities of a day-laborer. 

Thus, though his uncle had, in his will, presented 
him with a farm of goodly size, and excellent though 
nearly unimproved land, with horses, tools, and an 
abundance of stock, he had also left him the legacy of 
perpetual poverty. 

“ I owe all my bright anticipations to you,” said 
Abbie Sacket, as she took the thin hand of the school- 
teacher, when she called to say good-bye. “The 

post-master at L , accidentally learning the ad- 

dres of Augustus forwarded my letter to him. Do 
not forget me. I shall always be your friend, and I 
hope others will be raised up for you, who will be 
able to assist you to the advantages you so richly 
deserve.” 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


239 


CHAPTER XIV. 


MORE DIFFICULT TO CURE. 

HE land adjacent to the colony was rapidly 



JL taken up, and the little village of Eden became 
a brisk town. A few years after its first settlement, 
Mrs. Sacket was delighted to find on making the 
acquaintance of a pleasing young merchant who had 
established himself there, that he was her own brother 
Joe, whom she had not seen since his childhood. 

What a discovery that was to her! How long 
they sat together, she questioning, and he narrating 
the death of Lucy, of George, of father and Uncle 
Phelps; and not the least heavy blow, the long 
absence of “ little Seth ” from whom no tidings had 
ever reached the dear ones at home since the letter 
he wrote from Cousin Mary’s. 

Then there were related the marriages of Mary, 
and Thomas, and Henry, and Ruth’s ‘ queer notions’ 
of studying medicine, and Sarah’s confirmed illness, 
and ►William’s long absence and final return, but 
widowed, and bringing his motherless son, whom 
Joe feared was even “ faster” and more ungovernable 
than Seth, though not a bit like him. And how as 
William sailed from New York, mother had gone 
there to make a home for him and his son, to 


240 


Was it an Inheritance f 


endeavor to withdraw the boy from the gin-shops 
he too often visited, and to make this, the only 
possible return for the home William proposed 
to furnish her, since creditors’ claims, just and 
unjust, and the fees and knavery of executors and 
courts, had devoured nearly all the old homestead 
and its appurtenances. And how Aunt Mollie and 
Ruth had moved to Philadelphia that the daughter 
might pursue her medical studies. Let those who 
have had similar experiences, imagine as others can- 
not, the emotions of Mrs. Sacket and her mother when 
again exchanging endearing messages, even though 
by the written page ; and the tears of sympathy that 
flowed on the perusal of the eagerly anticipated 
letters, when the feeble pen essayed to unburden the 
heart of the sorrows and yearnings of years. 

Abbie now called herself happy. She had social, 
educational and religious privileges for herself and 
family, a neat and comfortable home; her brother 
with whom to talk of former times and friends, occa- 
sional letters from mother and Sarah, and her husband 
was seldom absent. Her children gave every prom- 
ise of fulfilling the hopes of her love and pride. 
Clemmentine was a leading teacher in the county, and 
Frank and Tamer were pursuing their academic course; 
the latter was more than accomplishing the promise 
of her early childhood, in person and scholarship, 
and also in practical, energetic application of her best 
thoughts, and noblest aspirations in her daily life, 


Or , Nannie Grant. 241 

which is the sublimity of the nobility of human 

existence. 

Addie and Theresa were diligently improving their 
opportunities ; and, as if all things conspired to make 
amends for the darkness of the past, when Joe’s wife 
“ came on ” with the little one he had so longed to 
see, who might she be but the dear friend of former 
years, — Miss Knowlton ! — “ the Cheecher,” — and as 
the young couple boarded with Mrs. Sacket, they 
composed, collectively, a “ happy family” indeed. 

Joe related to his sister all the facts and incidents 
attendant upon the death of George as the reader 
knows them, for the secret had become too oppres- 
sive to bear alone any longer, and yet, though he de- 
clared that fearful spectacle would haunt him, sleeping 
or waking, till his dying hour , — Joe was a drunkard! 

Not a daily drunkard, nor even a daily drinker , 
but a periodical drunkard. 

Three months of perfect sobriety had taught his 
sister and her family to love and respect not only the 
relative, but the handsome, agreeable and industrious 
young man. And his wife, — the dear girl whom 
years of trial had not found wanting, had married 
him believing him all that — that he was — but for the 
accursed cup. He had concealed this weakness from 
her during the months of their early acquaintance 
and courtship ; when he felt the returning of his fear- 
ful appetite, he had put many leagues between them, 
and thus she was kept in ignorance of its existence. 

He did not suppose himself deceiving her; for, 
11 


242 


Was it an Inheritance f 


like all others in his phase and stage of the disease, 
at the termination of each u spree,” he thought him- 
self certain that he had taken his last dram. 

On the first evening that he stumbled up the steps 
at Mrs. Sacket’s door, his eyes swimming in tears, 
yet blurred and soulless, the whole family were 
alarmed at what they thought his illness. Alas ! it 
was an illness, and what disease could have smitten 
with more deadly fang ? 

Hannah, who had not revealed his vice, because 
“ hoping against hope,” (as what drunkard’s wife 
does not,) with despair weighing down her heart, 
waived all assistance, and simply saying, “ I have 
seen him often so before,” led him to their chamber, 
and finally prevailed upon him to lie upon the bed ; 
when she bolted the door, and falling upon her knees, 
shed such tears of bitterness as we would hope are 
seldom shed, did not the recollection of the hundreds 
of thousands of drunkards in the land pinion our 
hope with the pall of despair. 

Three weeks he gave himself to drink, each day 
passing through the same dreadful experience. Head- 
ache in the morning, a temper soured by a sense of 
shame, sometimes softening to penitence, confession, 
and promises of amendment, which were soon forgot- 
ten ; for before noon he was sure to saunter out, and 
return silly and affectionate to disgust. 

Then love (if it be not profane to use that word 
thus) subsided, and hate arose, but, as if conscious 
that her sceptre ruled an unwilling spirit, she soon 


Or, Nannie Grant . 243 

yielded to the stupor that drowned all in the sleep 
of the debauchee. 

Mourning was in that house, as if each day had 
brought a funeral. 

“Oh!” said Mrs. Sacket, “why did not we who 
found this soil uncursed by rum, prohibit its intro- 
duction ? I had no idea how much one could suffer, 
looking upon the wreck of the soul and body of a 
friend and yet be so utterly powerless to save him ! 
God forgive us, if He can ! Here all about our Eden 
the gates of death and hell stand open ; and the lying 
fiend — strong drink — beckons for victims, — even 
my own and only son, must resolutely stop his ears 
and close his eyes if he would pass in safety along 
our streets ; for on all sides the serpent hisses forth, 
‘ye shall not surely die/ ‘take and know good and 
evil/ Ah ! if it was only the hissing of the serpent 
to his ears, but swelling its volume till the serpent’s 
hiss is loss in the intonations of the man, he hears the 
voice of every voter, (for this tempter is admitted 
through law,) for not a man in this community has 
ever cast a ballot in the teeth of this foe to happi- 
ness, nor attempted to lay a finger on his lying lips !” 

“ Where is Uncle Joe ?” asked Tamer, as she came 
from school one afternoon. 

“ Up-stairs on the sofa in the hall.” 

She turned without further remark, and ascended 
the stairs. 

She found him in a deep stupor, and stood a few 
moments gazing at him. “ That my Uncle Joe f" 


244 


Was it an Inheritance f 


She touched his face with her finger, and the color 
stood back in that single spot, but leaped back again 
as if in anger, when she took her hand away. 

He moved uneasily, and muttered an oath. She 
thought of Uncle George and his fearful death. She 
had never known him, “ but he was this Uncle Joe’s 
own brother.” Those fearful words, “ no drunkard 
shall inherit the kingdom of heaven,” came sounding 
as if from the very depths of death, and the sound 
shook her whole being. She set her teeth firmly, and 
a pallor overspread her face. It was not the pallor 
of fear, but of determined resolution . “ Vll go ! ” she 

said. 

She walked leisurely down the stairs, dragging her 
hat from step to step, held by one ribbon. 

“ Mother,” said she, entering the sitting-room, 
u do not Mr. Jackson, and Mr. Smith, and Mr. Weise 
sell liquor ? ” 

“ Yes, child.” 

“ And who else in this village ? ” 

“ Mr. Bennett and Mr. Mehl.” 

“ Is that all ? ” 

“ Yes. I think it quite enough.” 

“ Where does Uncle Joe get his ? ” 

“ At Mr. Jackson’s mostly, I think.” 

Without another word she left the room, only 
casting a quick and sober glance at the baby, which 
sat on Aunt Hannah’s knee, crowing and cooing, and 
reaching its hands to her in anticipation of the usual 
romp. She passed out of the house and down the 


Or, Nannie Gi'ant. 


245 


street, tying the ribbons of her hat under her chin as 
she walked along. Her mother’s eye caught sight of 
her fluttering dress as she passed the window. 

“ Where can the child be going ? Her step is as 
regular as a military march ? ” 

“ She’s thinking busily, too,” said Addie ; “ what 
an odd creature she is.” 

“ Shall I go call her back ? ” asked little Theresa. 
11 1 don’t believe she knows where she is going.” 

“ Ho, my dear ; it’s pretty safe to trust Tamer any- 
where.” 

“ There is something grand and noble in that girl,” 
the mother added, mentally. “ The Lord bless and 
strengthen her! I do believe He has some great 
work for her.” 

Tamer marched straight to a store that was half 
grocery and half groggery, entered it, and seeing no 
one but a boy, she asked, “ Is Mr. Jackson in ? ” 
u Yes, miss ; in the back office.” 
u Shall I annoy him if I go back there ? ” 

“ Oh, no, I guess not ; that’s where the men go to 
settle their accounts. But I’ll call him here.” 

“ Ho, I guess that’s the place where I want to see 
him ; ” and she w r ent with the same measured tread, 
and found the gentleman seated at his desk. 

Mr. Jackson had not yet arrived at middle-age, 
was of gentlemanly appearance and civil address. 
As he saw her approach, he arose from his stool, and 
laying aside his pen, asked, “ Is Sammy not there ? 
I will wait upon you, Miss Tamer.” 


246 


Was it an Inheritance f 


“ No, no, Mr. Jackson, do not let me disturb you 
more than I must. I do not wish to buy anything 
to-night. I only want to talk with you.” 

“ Oh, certainly,” said he, smiling, and placing a 
chair for her, yet with a query in his countenance. 
The young girl was tall and mature for her years, 
and dignified and ladylike in her manners, and had 
been a general favorite since the town’s first settle- 
ment ; perhaps on account of her strength of character 
and individuality, quite as much as her kindness and 
amiability of disposition, for all which she was re- 
markable. 

“ What is it ? ” he asked, after waiting a moment, 
in which she was trying to arrange her ideas. “ What 
is money wanted for now? — the church, the Sabbath- 
school, or the school-house? — or is it a picnic? Per- 
haps you might as well tell me how much I am to 
give at once, as you will have it all your own way at 
last. But you look sober about it! What is it? 
Speak out, and don’t be afraid. i Faint heart never 
won’ fair gentleman , any more than fair lady. I’ll 
promise to do as you bid me.” 

“ Oh ! will you, Mr. Jackson ?” The tears sprang 
to her eyes, and she clasped her hands in earnestness. 
“ I didn’t mean to cry, Mr. Jackson, but you made 
me — you promised so quickly ; and, do you know, I 
was a little afraid you might be angry. Oh, I’m so 
glad ! ” 

“ What ails the child ? ” (half audibly.) 

u Oh, Mr. Jackson ! if you could see my Uncle Joe, 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


247 


and could know how all our hearts ache! It’s just 
like a funeral at our house now, all the time. My 
Uncle George died just so, only dreadfully awful ! — 
delirium tremens ! — and the last words he said was to 
swear; but he didn’t know what he was saying.” 

“ We were so happy at our house. Mamma hadn’t 
seen one of her folks for ever so many years, and her 
father was dead, and her mother had moved to New 
York, and we didn’t know whereabouts, so Mamma 
couldn’t write to her, and we used to feel so bad about 
it amost all the time. Then my beautiful, good Uncle 
Joe came, and he is so funny, and is always so pleas- 
ant, and we all loved him so much, and were so proud 
of him, and he told Mamma all about grandma, and 
Aunt Sarah, and Ma wrote to them, and we got such 
nice letters from them ; and then Aunt Hannah, who 
is Uncle Joe’s wife, she came and brought their baby 
that you know is just the prettiest baby in this town, 
and its mother used to be our school-teacher before 
we came here, and we all loved her ever , and ever so 
much then, and we love her a great deal better now 
because she’s my own Uncle Joe’s wife, and will 
always be my aunt, and — oh, we were so happy, and 
then — and then — and then Mr. Jackson, my Uncle 
Joe bought some liquor of you, and it’s all over now. 
He’s lying this minute up-stairs on the sofa in the 
hall, and the air is full of this dreadful liquor that I 
smell in here, though I never had any idea before 
how dreadful it was ; and when I came home from 
school I wanted to see him, because we always have 


248 


Was it an Inheritance f 


such fun together when I come home ; and I went 
and saw him. His face looks j ust like a blood-blister, 
and it is all swelled up, and he didn’t know me at 
all ; and his eyes looked dreadfully, and I know he 
wouldn’t be that way if he wasn’t made sick ! Why 
if he’d look that way when he hadn’t been drinking 
liquor, or if he’d taken some medicine that made him 
look and act so, we should be dreadfully scared about 
him. He looks just as if he was in a fit, and when 

I touched his purple face, he . Oh, Mr. Jack- 

son ! he swore, and it didn’t sound a bit like Uncle 
Joe’s voice ; and then I thought of Uncle George’s 
last words ; and it seemed as if away down , out of the 
grave where he lies, I heard this, — “ No drunkard 
shall inherit the kingdom of heaven ; ” and I couldn’t 
stand that. And I thought as you had always been 
so kind to me, and always given me money when I 
asked you for it, for the Sabbath-school, or Church, 
or anything, and I didn’t believe you would sell him 
the drink if you knew how it is, and that he don’t 
want to drink it himself, for he told Ma so this morn- 
ing, and I heard him. I thought if I told you all 
about it, you wouldn’t sell him drink. 

“ And you know you said you would give me what- 
ever I wanted, before I asked you. Oh, that made 
me cry, and I couldn’t help it.” 

A look of indecision and distress was his only 
reply. 

“ Oh, Mr. Jackson! you won't now, will you £” 
and she arose and extended her hand. The dealer 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


249 


had met an episode he had not anticipated ? It was 
an awkward position for a man. He hesitated, and 
reflected. 

“ Mr. Jackson, you are not going to refuse me after 
all. You promised.” 

“ But I didn’t expect this. I expected you would 
ask for money.” 

“ I want something that is worth more to me than 
all the money in this world , and yet it is worth very 
little to you . Not so much as you gave me for the 
Sabbath-school, the last time I came here.” 

“That is true,” said he, “You shall have it Miss 
Tamer. Your uncle shall get no more drink from 
my store.” 

“ Thank you ! thank you ! and I know Mamma 
and Aunt Hannah, and all of them, would thank you 
if they knew it, but they don’t. I didn’t tell any- 
body where I was going,” and she extended her hand 
to bid him good evening, and soon left the store, 
wiping the tears from her eyes. Once on the street, 
she summoned her courage, forced the tears back, and 
went to the next grog-shop, which was one of the 
regular sort. 

Mr. Smith, the saloon-keeper, was quite a different 
man — coarse, rough, and unpleasant. Her heart beat 
audibly as she entered, but she called to mind poor 
Uncle Joe lying insensible up-stairs, and Mamma and 
Aunt Hannah weeping down-stairs, and marched 
straight up to the bar. “ Mr. Smith, I have come 
to ask a favor of you. It is worth all the money 
11 * 


250 Was it an Inheritance f 

in the world to me, but it will cost you only a little 
bit.” 

“ Well, what is it? If it is anything that I can 
do so easy, Pm on hand. Spit it out ! ” as he observed 
her eagerness. 

“ Oh you can do it, and you will make us all so 
happy at our house, if you only will. Please promise 
me that you will not let my Uncle Joe get any liquor 
from your store.” 

“Uch!” was the only reply that worthy vouch- 
safed. 

“ You won’t, will you?” she urged, as he turned to 
leave her without further answer. 

“ I guess you had better go home and tell your 
parents that we know our own business down here.” 

“ But, Mr. Smith, they don’t know anything about 
my coming here, and I shouldn’t like to tell them 
that, because they couldn’t like you quite so well as 
if they didn’t know you had said it. 

“ I expect you do know your own business, but you 
don’t know ours. If you did, I don’t believe you 
would let my uncle have liquor from your bar. I 
don’t want to meddle with any of your business, but 
I want to tell you, that you don’t know how much I 
love my dear Uncle Joe, and I can’t bear to see him 
look so sick as he does every day, now, since he 
drinks liquor. In the morning he has a dreadful 
headache, and in the afternoon he just lays there, and 
doesn’t know anybody, and looks as if he had an 
awful fit; and auntie says he will just keep doing so 


Or, Nannie Grant 


251 


till he will, by-and-by, get so dreadfully, awfully sick, 
that he will almost die, and will die in some of 
those spells ; and then she cries and puts her hand on 
little baby Lizzie’s pale cheek, and says, ‘ Papa’s and 
Mamma’s darling little baby, is suffering for it, too,’ 
for she is the most nervous little baby my Mamma ever 
saw in her life; and, I don’t wonder. It is enough 
to make her nervous, for she loves her Papa so much, 
and he does her, when he hasn’t been drinking, but 
she’s afraid of him now, and she will look at him so 
sorry , with her great, big eyes, and won’t go near him. 
Mamma hadn’t seen one of her brothers or sisters, 
nor father, nor mother, for almost twenty years, and 
then, this dear, good handsome uncle of mine came, 
and we were all so happy ; but this drink you sell, 
has spoiled it all.” 

“ I don’t make your uncle drink. I don’t ask him 
to buy liquor. He ought to know enough to take 
care of himself, and if he doesn’t it’s not my fault.” 

“ Yes, but Mr. Smith, he says when these fits come 
on him he cannot help himself. I heard him tell 
Mamma so this morning, and the tears were drop- 
ping on his hands all the time, and he said he had 
promised himself a great many times that he would 
never taste liquor again. It always makes him sick, 
but he said he doesn’t want it so all the time, only 
once in awhile the fit comes on, when, if he sees or 
smells the drink, it seems as if he must have it y if it 
kills him. ‘ And then, if I do get it,’ said he, ‘ it’s 
all over with me. I drink till I’m so full of the 


252 


Was it an Inher itance f 


poison, that I’m so sick all over, that * I can’t hold 
my head up.’ And then he talked about Uncle 
George, who died of delirium tremens , and he said he 
expected he’d die just so, if he didn’t stop; and it 
seemed as if he couldn't. But at last he laid his 
hand on Mamma’s and said, ‘ Abbie, I’ll never taste 
another drop !’ Then I went to school so happy ! but 
when I came home it was all over again. I know he 
can’t stop as long as there’ll anybody let him have it.” 

“ You’d better teach him how to control himself, 
instead of me how to sell my wares.” 

“ Oh ! please, Mr. Smith, don’t be angry at me, but 
just think if it was your Andrew back there, and it 
may happen to him just so. Uncle Joe wasn’t 
always so. It was because a doctor prescribed it for 
him, when he was sick, and then he got into the 
habit. Please, Mr. Smith, don’t let him have it, and 
don't be angry at me !” 

“ Well, Miss, my customers are waiting,” (quite a 
crowd had gathered, unobserved by her,) “ I won’t 
let him have anything here, but he’ll get it some- 
where else. So, please get out of the way and let the 
men come.” 

The child, scared at the crowd, left immediately, 
not forgetting to express her thanks for the promise. 

“ I Gad!” said the rumseller, "if the race only 
could get along without the women, I’d wish every 
one on ’em was in Tophet, and that never another of 
’em would be made ? What’s a man to do when such 
a gal as that comes in in that way? Ye can’t say no 



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Or, Nannie Grant. 


253 


to her to save yer life ; and she wouldn’t take it, if ye 
did; you’ve just got to come right down and make a 
booby of yourself. Now, I’ve promised her. Gad ! 
I couldn’t help it, seeing the pluck she’s got. ’Taint 
no small grit a gal of her stripe’s got ter have, ter 
come into a saloon filled with men, and talk that way. 
I’ve promised her, and she’ll go and trumpet it all 
around, and all o’ your gals will be cornin’ here, jest 
the same way. Darn it all ! It’s the lucky fellow 
that gets the women all on his side ; but, blast ’em ! 
I wish they’d tend to their own business.” 

“She seemed to think she was doing that,” said the 
boy Andrew, referred to by Tamer. 

“You jist go ’long into the house tu yer mother. 
We’ll be havin’ another temperance lecter from 
you” 

But, frightened though she was, the child’s cour- 
age seemed to rise with every obstacle that opposed, 
and she did not pause till she had visited every place 
in the village where rum could be obtained by any 
one, and received the coveted promise from each. 

But, alas ! though Uncle Joe returned from his 
next morning’s visit to the grog-shops, nervous, rest- 
less, and irritable, having had no alcoholic stimulant, 
his afternoon’s endeavor resulted differently, and he 
returned home in a fearful state, exceeding any former' 
day. Our young heroine was in despair. The ex- 
citement of the previous evening had procured her a 
sleepless night; and when the evidence of perfidy on 
the part of the rumsellers was before her, her anguish 


254 


Was it an Inheritance? 


was so great that she became seriously ill, and the 
services of a physician were absolutely demanded. 

A temperance lecture was advertised for Tuesday 
evening, and on that day Tamer, who had been 
upon her bed since the preceding Friday, crept down- 
stairs to tea, declaring her determination to attend. 

“ My child, you are too ill to go,” said her mother. 

“It will strengthen me to know somebody else 
cares about this drinking, besides our family. It will 
do me good to go.” 

They did not tell her that Uncle Joe had, that 
afternoon, been taken from the gutter and brought 
home by a pale and trembling stranger. When 
the hour for the meeting arrived, she walked the few 
rods to the church, supported between her mother and 
elder sister. 

They were early, and secured a good comfortable 
seat, where she could lean her head against the wall, 
for she really seemed too weak to sit. The house 
rapidly filled, for in a small village like Eden, such 
occurrences as those we have narrated, produce strong 
excitements. 

The speaker entered and passed up the aisle. He 
had scarcely reached the meridian of life, yet among 
his raven locks were many hoary hairs. His face, 
pale as death, was rendered more ghastly by brilliant, 
black eyes. 

Calmly and dispassionately, he first informed them 
of the waste of money and of time, consequent upon 
the use of strong drink. 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


255 


He told them of the millions annually squandered 
for these beverages, which charm but to destroy; of 
the years of precious time squandered in tippling- 
houses, where the surrounding influences drag the 
soul downward ; of the comforts, and happiness, and 
honor, and usefulness in this present life, sacrificed 
for the indulgence of this low propensity; of the 
broken hearts and blasted lives, the desolated homes, 
and the unutterable anguish that are a portion of the 
price of these strong drinks; of the ruin of the phys- 
ical system, that they must and do bring. 

“ And yet some tell us ( alcohol is the life-principle , 
arrested at the instant of the dissolution of the grain, 
and hence it is the elixir of life/ 

“ When the decaying vegetable yields up its life — 
the only life God created unimbued with intelligence, 
and men catch what they suppose to be the flitting 
vital flame, and quaff it, behold ! to them Tis death ; 
for the being of man is inspired in all its atoms with 
the soul of God, which cannot co-exist, in the same 
being, with the soulless life ; any more than two 
atoms can occupy the same space at the same time. 

“ Material may feed material : vegetable may feed 
animal ; but the life-principle — the vital — unless in- 
spired with the spiritual , the soul-element from God, 
is the antagonist, the Satan of the soul and its mate- 
rial house. 

“ ‘ But when the body fails, may we not re-inforce its 
soulless life with alcohol ?* you ask. 

“ The human body has no soulless life. When you 


256 


Was it an Inheritance f 


can mix oil and water, and make their atoms identi- 
cal — when you can cure the lameness of the lame by 
amputation — when you can harness Gabriel and Lu- 
cifer the fallen, and make their natures harmonize, 
and their wings beat in unison, while, guided by 
your puny hand, they bear your triumphal chariot of 
translation on, on, through ages of perpetual youth ; 
then, and not till then, can you produce a cure worthy 
of the name, by this * mortal foe of life in all its 
forms/ 

“ What is disease ? 

“ Is it not the civil war the baser part has ushered 
in by usurpation of the rightful empire of the breath 
of God? for this — the immortal soul, which was 
breathed into each of these machines we call ‘ our 
bodies/ is crowned by the great Inspirer as the 
master of the house it dwells in ; but by these drinks 
it is made its shackled slave. 

“And shall we re-inforce the rebels ? If a cessation 
of hostilities be the result, it is not victory , but be- 
cause we have laid our hand upon the Emanuel 
within — if our lower life is saved, it is by slaying 
‘ God with us/ 

“ I would to God I had one proof the less that this 
is truth ! 

“ Walking upon your streets this afternoon, I lifted 
from the gutter a young man, upon whom centres 
fond affections and hopes — one of God’s favorite 
specimens ; one who by nature compelled both love 
and admiration from all he met ; one who is the son 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


257 


of a man of eminence, and a mother of excellence ; the 
brother of estimable men and women ; the husband 
of a lovely wife, and the father of a char ming babe, 
the uncle of interesting nephews and nieces, and 
among the latter is counted a heroic young girl who, 
a few evenings since, plead with every rumseller in 
this village to withhold the cup of death from her 
uncle’s lips, and received a pledge from each that her 
prayer should be granted. 

" Yet to-day, in the broad light of this pleasant 
afternoon, I took him from the gutter where perfidy 
had left him ; and as I raised him up, — oh, my God !” 
said the speaker, placing his hand over his eyes, 
“ would that I could shut out the vision that must 
haunt me to my dying day ! He looked me in the 
face ; Ae, whom God had filled so full of soul, and 
given it such transparent outlooks — he made desper- 
ate endeavor to rouse the palsied spirit — to pierce the 
mists of hell with which the fiend, alcohol, had dimmed 
those glorious eyes, and to break the deadly spell 
with which he had bound his tongue, and, recognizing 
me, stammered forth, ‘ Doctor, this is your work/ 

“ And it was true . I gave him spirits to strengthen 
after illness; and when remonstrated with by his 
devoted relative, whose medical skill was not the 
second of my own professional pride, and slavery to 
‘ the books/ would not let me retract, especially as 
the suggestion was from an unprofessional source. 
The dignity of the profession must be maintained 
even at some slight risks, I thought. At some slight 


258 


Was it an Inher itance f 


risks ! Merciful heavens ! of what am I not guilty 
in taking that risk? I gave alcohol to strengthen 
after illness. Yet what can strengthen, except it 
nourish? and what can nourish, except it digest? 
Recent researches discredit the hypothesis that 
alcohol is to be regarded in the light of food in 
disease, and show that at least in the inordinate 
qualities in which it has been the custom to admin- 
ister it, its tendency is to disturb all the vital func- 
tions, and to counteract the vis medicatrix naturea or 
healing power of Nature. 

“ Nothing is definitely settled as to the mode of 
administration, and the mode of action, of alcohol as 
a medicine, and it cannot be classed as food, as it 
does not digest. 

* “ 1 1 am now fully persuaded that many chronic 
diseases are brought on and continued by the use of 
alcohol and tobacco. I consider I shall do more in 
curing disease, and preventing disease, in one year 
by prescribing total abstinence, than could be done 
in the ordinary course of an extensive practice of one 
hundred years.’ 

“ I have already seen diseases cured by total absti- 
nence that could not have been cured by any other 
means. 

“ If all intoxicating drinks and tobacco were ban- 
ished from the earth, it would be a real blessing to 
society, and in a few weeks they would not be missed, 
not even as a medicine. 

<x 

* Drs. Higginbottom’s and Murchison’s words. 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


259 


“ No one can for a moment doubt that alcohol can 
pass through parts of the body in a state of irritation 
or inflammation, but the part must be further in- 
jured. I therefore call upon my brethren of the 
medical profession to answer me, if with all this un- 
certainty concerning its action, with all the dearth of 
evidence to prove its diatetic character — with the 
facts daily exhibited before us that it is the origina- 
tor of diseases almost innumerable, and that it de- 
praves not only the physical nature, but the intel- 
lectual and the moral, and this as truly when taken 
as a medicine, when the mind, usually, as well as the 
body, is weakened, and the nerves peculiarly sensitive, 
I ask medical men to answer, if in view of all these 
facts, and want of facts, the use of alcoholic medicine, 
or as diet in disease, is not, to say the least, em- 
pirical. 

“Listen to this recent communication from Dr. 
Higginbottom, an eminent surgeon of Nottingham, 
England. ‘ The subject of alcohol as a medicine has 
occupied my attention ever since the year 1810. At 
that time I was of opinion that alcohol in various 
forms could not possibly be dispensed with in medi- 
cal practice, but was absolutely necessary, and that 
nothing could be substituted for it in the treatment 
of some disorders. 

“ ‘ For the first twenty years I ignorantly gave 
alcohol in some diseases, as was customary with the 
profession. Yet, at so early a period as 1813, I dis- 
continued it in typhus and typhoid and other fevers, 


260 


Was it an Inheritance f 


with the most marked beneficial results; in 1818, in 
all cases of midwifery ; and at a later period, in de- 
lirium tremens and in all other disorders and diseases, 
from a full conviction of its injurious properties; so 
that I had lost all faith in alcoholic stimulants and 
discontinued their use several years before the forma- 
tion of a temperance society. 

“ ‘ For about thirty years, I have not once pre- 
scribed alcohol as a medicine ; so that I have now 
fully tried both ways, with and without alcohol. I 
am now fully of opinion that a more dishonest or 
cruel act cannot be inflicted on a patient, than to pre- 
scribe alcohol as a medicine. Why is it prescribed 
at all, being such a fertile producer of disease ? 

“ ‘ It is destitute of any medicinal principle im- 
planted by the Creator in genuine medicines — such 
as emetina in ipecacuanha, rhein in rhubarb, jalapin 
in jalap, quinine in Peruvian bark. I have never 
seen a patient, or any other person, injured by leaving 
off alcoholic fluids at once. I should as soon expect 
to kill a horse by leaving off the whip and spur. 

“ ‘ I have not heard from my professional brethren, 
or from any of my patients, that my non-alcoholic 
treatment has occasioned a single death. My greatest 
trouble has been for many years in preventing pa- 
tients from being destroyed by the use of it. 1 do 
not say the abuse , for I consider the use the abuse’* 

“ Dr. M. R. Bailey M. R. C. S. of Strourbridge, also 
says, ‘During these twenty-one years I have not 
* Four pillars of Temperance 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


261 


made fewer than 180,000 professional visits, and I 
hesitate not to say that the recoveries have been more 
numerous and more rapid , than they were during the 
five years I followed the usual practice and adminis- 
tered wine, beer and brandy. 

“ 1 Of these numerous patients, many were laboring 
under the most aggravated forms of typhus and other 
malignant fevers, small-pox, cholera, delirium - 
tremens , large exhausting abcesses, and many other 
forms of disease in which alcoholic stimulants are 
usually administered and considered essential. 

“ ‘ I have attended likewise the patients of two large 
hospitals for many years ; one in town, the other in 
the country, the paupers of a populous parish for 
sixteen years, the members of nine benefit-clubs for 
many years, some of these numbering near three- 
hundred members, and in all these different cases, 
and under all these different circumstances, I have 
not found it once necessary to prescribe either spirit- 
uous, vinous or malt beverages. I am more than 
ever convinced that the banishment of these from my 
practice is right , and more firmly resolved than ever 
to continue in the course I have followed for so many 
years/ 

“ And now, my friends, in view of all these facts I 
have given you, corroborated as most of them are, I 
am sure, by your daily experiences and observations, 
I call upon you to unite as one man to overthrow 
this foe of all that is good. Men and women! band 
together, join hand-in-hand, put shoulder to shoulder 


262 


Was it an Inheritance f 


to save your country, your state, your town, your 
fire-sides, aye, your own hearts’ sanctuary from the 
ravages of this terrible evil. If you have been an 
inebriate come and join hands with us, and we will 
aid you to break the fetters that have bound you. 
If you have been a moderate drinker, come and join 
us and with our songs of freedom drown the songs 
of the siren, who else will still sing: ‘ peace and 
safety, slumber on ; peace and safety, slumber on / till 
you hear the cry, ‘ the Philistines be upon thee/ and 
when you awake out of your sleep and say, ‘ I will 
arise and shake myself as at other times before/ and 
wish not that the Lord is departed from you, you 
shall find that while you slept, she has shorn you of 
your manhood’s strength. Come join us to-night I 
say, and drown her lying voice with the songs of the 
cold-water army. 

“ Have you been a total abstainer? Is it a fact 
that ‘Your hand is steady and your eye is true, 
for you like the flowers drink nothing but dew?’ 

“ Then in your steady hand come take the trembling 
ones, with your true eye guide those bewildered by 
the poison-cup, and your sure feet shall stand a pillar 
of strength for the support of the feeble knees, ‘for 
no man liveth unto himself, and no man dieth unto 
himself, but whether living or dying all are the 
Lord’s/ and He spends His entire time in labors for 
others’ good. Will you not watch with Him one hour 
each week over the victims of false customs and false 
theories? Will you not come and labor for the over- 


Or, Nannie Grant 


263 


throw of these false guides, and the removal of these 
gate-ways to perdition that gape on every hand to 
ensnare the unwary. Come help me save the young 
man I took from the gutter to-day. Come and save 
your own son and daughter from the drunkard’s woe 
and the drunkard’s home !” 

The pastor in whose church he spoke, arose and 
said, “I will join you sir, and should be glad to see 
my flock follow.” Mr. Sacket, who, associated with 
a large manufacturing establishment, had found labor 
and society combined, and become a prosperous busi- 
ness man and a leader in the church, arose next. 

Our young friend Tamer whispered to the pastor : 
“Did he say ‘ and women? for I want to join.” 

“ Yes, thank God, my child, he said, ‘and women . 9 ” 

“Then count me for one,” said she, rising, with one 
hand on her mother’s arm for assistance ; and mother 
and daughter stood pale and tearful, yet resolute. 

With but few exceptions, that entire audience joined 
the temperance society. 

“I believe,” said Deacon Talmage, that it is a 
secret society you propose to organize to-night ?” 

“Yes, sir, it is called a secret society; but neither 
our object nor obligation is secret. We keep some 
small matters to ourselves, important only to our- 
selves. We do not interfere with any man’s duties 
as a Christian or citizen. Our obligations are no more 
objectionable in their spirit, intention, or manner of 
adoption, than those you took when you became a 
member of your church.” 


2G4 


Was it an Inheritance f 


“Yet your signs, pass- words and grips, are own- 
cousins to those of Masonry, and they are of the 
devil; therefore* I cannot join you.” 

“As to the connection between the ceremonies of 
Masonry and the devil, I am ignorant, having never 
seen either of them ; but the nearest approach to Sa- 
tan I have ever seen, is strong drink ; and I am fully 
persuaded, that the best weapon ever forged by man, 
and blest by God for its destruction, is the Temper- 
ance Society,” and the speaker proceeded to prove his 
premises correct. 

“ But Deacon Talmage had determined not to be 
convinced and he and a few others withdrew, while 
the rest proceeded to organize what became a flourish- 
ing lodge, and the parent of many others in the 
surrounding towns. 

All of Mr. Sacket’s family who were of sufficient 
age, became members ; and no efforts were spared to 
induce Joe to join them. But though nearly all the 
sober people of E became members, he still per- 

sisted in saying, “ It’s a good place to advertise it if 
one is afraid to trust himself — too weak to stand 
alone.” Though many others were saved, and many 
redeemed ; though total abstainers were educated to 
take higher and still higher ground, as they found 
the floods of iniquity sweeping away their false and 
untenable positions, till they planted their feet on the 
rock of “State and National Prohibition,” he would 
none of it; and trusting in himself, in his own en- 
feebled and daily decreasing strength, his path was 


Or , Nannie Grant. 


265 


ever downward. Sometimes sober for months, hopes 
were raised only to be dashed to atoms. 

When less than one year old, his babe, to which he 
was tenderly attached, became the subject of a disease 
of the medulla oblongata, or base of the brain. 

Never was more tenderness manifested by a father 
for a suffering little one. By night and day he 
watched her with the utmost solicitude. Days, 
months, and finally years flew by, and still the child 
was restless, timorous, nervous; forever wishing for 
change, yet longing for rest. Tossing, turning, reach- 
ing her thin arms to one person and then another, 
begging to be carried, crying feebly, trembling, hiding 
her face, then looking anxiously about as if in search 
of coming ill; till gradually, as time wore on, the 
brilliant intellect she exhibited in infancy, dimmed 
and faded day by day, and hers w r as the living death 
of idiocy. Other children came to that home, but 
feeble-minded were they all, stamped with the curse 
of the father’s failing mind, for each successive child 
was duller than his predecessor. 


12 


266 


Was it an Inheritance f 


CHAPTER XY. 


PERSEVERANCE AND SUCCESS. 

URING all those years Sarah was still an in- 



I J valid. Poverty now stared in her face, and 
indigence seemed but a little way off. Though 
neither Joe or William would have allowed her to 
want, she could not think of dependence upon them. 
She decided to apply the small sum left her from her 
father’s estate (which had been settled under the sup- 
position that Seth, was deceased) to the trial of new 
methods to regain her health. 

A correspondence was duly opened with a physician 
in charge of one of the many health-establishments 

near the village of X , in Massachusetts. As the 

doctor was confident he could command a cure in her 
case, she and her mother left the town of their birth 
on the same train ; the one bound for the city of New 
York in search of usefulness and a home, and the 
other for the mountains. 

Mrs. Phelps and Ruth had already moved to 
Philadelphia, that the latter might avail herself of 
greater facilities for the prosecution of a medical 
education. 

Though leading lives of temperance in all things, 
in a home of elegant simplicity, the Phelps family 


Or y Nannie Grant. 


267 


had never been wealthy, in the usual acceptation of 
that word. With leisure for physical rest, with the 
widest and yet the most minute charities, and the 
time and means for all available intellectual and 
moral culture; while they had enriched themselves 
with gain that could never be lost, the doctor had 
accumulated only such an amount of property, as, 
with economy and good management, could suffice for 
the support of his widow and maiden daughter a few 
years after his death; his other heirs having been 
already provided for. Yet when we contrast the im- 
perishable capital of a truly cultivated soul, and its 
income — far more than inexhaustible by the wants of 
the body — with merely material accumulations, theirs 
seem the only wise investments. 

Separation from the scenes and friends of a life- 
time, and the graves of their beloved dead, was no 
light affliction to these aged sisters, few days of 
whose lives had been uncheered by each other’s soci- 
ety; and the mutual dependence of their daughters 
had been less only by their fewer years, though per- 
haps their intimacy had been even greater, inasmuch 
as they had more points of sympathetic contact than 
their mothers. 

The young ladies maintained an uninterrupted cor- 
respondence, extracts from which may best inform 
our readers of their interests, prospects and expe- 
riences. Sarah wrote soon after her arrival at N : 

“ After dark ; a strange depot ; a mile’s ride before 


268 


Was it an Inheritance f 


me; so weary I could with difficulty stand or sit; no 
one to meet me, as the doctor had promised there 
should be ; a carriage to look up ; basket, bundle and 
baggage to look after; head-ache, back-ache and 
heart-ache. 6 Surely/ I thought, ‘ this is hard/ The 
wind was cold, and cut me to the bone. I could not 
keep the tears back. 

“ At length I was crowded into a hard-riding, old- 
fashioned stage-coach, with a scolding mamma and 
her two i hopefuls/ who possessed a large inheritance 
of their mother’s temper; a fat mulatto nurse; a 
student, and an elderly clerical gentleman, and was 
trundling towards the hills. I tried to interest my- 
self in their grandeur, for the stars shone very 
brightly, though there was no moon. I do remem- 
ber that, as we turned from the main road to ascend 
the hill on which the ‘ Cure’ stands, something resem- 
bling a remarkably bright star shone upon the brow 
of Mt. Holyoke, and what looked very like a bridal 
veil, I thought, swept down from the star, and trailed 
back on either side, till the hills in waiting there 
seemed to pick it up and carry it tenderly. But I 
soon tired of looking, and leaned back in my corner, 
and let the tears fall unobserved, I think, in the 
darkness. I had the coach to myself the last half of 
the ride, so I cried my cry out. 

“ It was an unfamiliar face that met me at the 
door, but even the smile of a hotel-clerk is pleasant 
sometimes, and I received it gratefully. I paid the 
hackman, called for a room, and sat by the fire in 


269 


Or, Nannie Grant 

the reception-room while one was built in mine. Not 
less than a dozen ladies were already gathered about 
the open grate ; but having a fellow-feeling for ‘ the 
new patient/ I suppose, they made room for me in 
front of the fire. 

“ ‘ It is quite cold out to-night, is it not?’ asked an 
elderly lady who sat at my right. My heart was hers 
at once, her voice was so much like Aunt Mol lie’s. 
‘ Have you ridden far to-day?’ inquired another, with 
the voice of a cricket. This meant ‘ where did you 
come from ? 9 

“‘Have you come as a patient?’ A motion, if 
not a sound, like the snapping of a turtle, followed 
this query. Two eyes, like black beads, set close be- 
side a long, thin nose; thin, compressed lips, a 
pointed chin, and a face generally sharp, looked at 
me from the corner at my left, from whence that 
query came. On the verge of the deep seat of a large 
upholstered arm-chair, sat the bony, angular woman, 
her head resting against the chair-back in a very un- 
comfortable way, her hands folded with the skinny 
fingers interlocked, and continually opening and 
closing in measured time that corresponded exactly 
with her rocking. It was she that had spoken. 

“ To my relief the announcement that my room 
was ready, came just then, and I gladly followed the 
boy that conducted me ; though I could not repress a 
shudder when the reptile in the corner swung her 
chair around for a parting stare, as I passed her ; and 
I was obliged to pass the scrutiny of another clique 


270 


Was it an Inheritance f 


in the great drawing-room, through which I went on 
my way to the solitude of my own apartment. 

“ At breakfast this morning I found my sweet eld- 
erly friend sitting opposite me, which is very pleasant, 
and we had a little chat. 

“ It is a glorious morning, and I have taken a short 
rest since breakfast, (for it is a Sabbath-day’s journey 
from my room to the dining-hall), and have crept out 
here upon the piazza, where I am enjoying the 
scenery, (which is very fine), and writing to you, a 
few sentences at a time. But I am so weary now 
that I will only add that my journey was not more 
fatiguing than I expected, and I am not so much of 
a babe this morning. Write soon, please. 

“ Ever yours, Sarah Grant. 

“ P. S. — I forgot to tell you that William’s vessel 
sails to-night, and he must leave mother unsettled. 
Poor mother ! I know she will be very , very lonely. 
Do write to her at once, and often. S. G.” 

Without comment, or Euth’s reply, we give our 
readers a portion of another letter we abstract from 
Miss Phelps’ portfolio. 

“ I am sitting upon the piazza, my back supported, 
and my writing-desk in my lap. I sit or lie here all 
the time I can, watching the shadows as they chase 
each other down the Connecticut Eiver, darkening 
the spires of Amherst, and I don’t know how many 
other villages, (and do not want to stop now to count), 


Or, Nannie Grant 


271 


resting awhile on thfe grand old elms that stand 
reaching their long arms towards each other on either 
side of the broad street of Old Hadley; softening 
the tints of Sugar-Loaf Mountain ; and dappling the 
face of the luxurious valley ; then kissing the hills 
that rise in ascending grades, as they creep towards 
and behind Mt. Holyoke; then spreading their purple 
pinions, and playing hide-and-go-seek with the sun- 
beams among the scarlet and gold, the dusky yellows, 
and the rich browns, of the forest that reaches far up 
the ribbed and rocky sides of that beautiful, and 
beauty-girt mountain ; and perching a brief moment 
upon its bare brow ; then flitting away like carrier- 
doves, bearing the love-messages they have gathered, 
to staid old Mt. Tom and his calm companion, 
Noniatuck. 

“ You tell me of the expressive faces of your great 
elocutionists ? Why, this honest prospect, these un- 
impeachable hills and valleys, and even this peaceful, 
translucent river, whose depths were never guilty of 
misrepresentation, change countenance with every 
passing breeze — laughing or frowning — smiling or 
sad — glowing or glowering, as the mood may be! 
‘The extravagance of fashionable women ?’ The 
Demorest that serves this landscape , is an inventor 
whose skill knows no limits, and the industry of 
whose employees is unprecedented as the justness of 
their remuneration. Each once- worn trousseau is cast 
aside for the new one of the following day. But you 
wish to know of my health. I don’t like to mention 


272 


Was it an Inheritance f 


it. Six weeks ago, I came here. Sometimes I think 
I am improving, and at others I am sure I am not. 
I can walk further, and exercise longer than when I 
came, but I cannot rest, I cannot sleep . At night I 
think, think, think , till my brain seems running wild. 
My nervous-system seems in a conflagration. While 
using my muscles actively, my mind has some rest ; 
when they are at rest, a whirlwind tosses my brain. 
I think of everything that can be remembered or 
imagined ‘ in the heavens above, or on the earth be- 
neath, or in the waters under the earth/ Some 
thoughts are charming, grand, sublime ; some wring 
my soul with anguish ; and others weary me with the 
depths of abstruse and protracted reasoning, such as 
I suppose should be scarcely capable of in health. 
This brain exercise is so exhausting and wearisome, 
that I frequently get up and write, or crochet, or walk 
my room for hours, or practice calisthenics, at dead 
of night ; in the usually vain endeavor to weary the 
body till it will welcome sleep. And all the time I 
am so tired, tired, tired, that my whole being cries 
out, ‘ Is there no resting-place ? J and whep I hear 
the answer, ‘ Yes, in heaven/ I long to be there. 

“ Your letters are always such loving, cheerful ones ! 
They are like ‘cold water to a thirsty soul/ and I 
know my package of parched desert-sand, is but a 
poor return. I thank you many times for your kind 
offer of a home with you, but my brothers and sister 
will have to stand the tax before I come upon the 
hands of relatives more remote. I shall remain here 


Or, Nannie Grant 


273 


one month longer, and then if not decidedly better 
must leave ; and perhaps I ought to at any rate, for 
my bills are a sore tax on my light purse. The last 
penny might go, if it would bring me health. But 
what when money and health are both gone ? I will 
try not to think of it. Best love to Aunt Mollie and 
yourself. Sarah ” 

Though Dr. Phelps had “died without the sight” 
of that for which he labored, in the education of his 
daughter, she relaxed none of her former earnestness 
in pushing that object to completion, and became a 
member of the first-class, in the first medical college, 
for women, which the world had ever known : — “ The 
Woman’s Medical College of Pennsylvania,” and 
graduated honorably with her class. Let us quote 
from one of her letters to Sarah : “You asked for a 
description of our opening ceremonies, and the public 
participants therein. For the first; speeches, etc. — I 
will send you newspapers with full reports, and con- 
fine myself to personal descriptions and personal re- 
flections. First let me tell you a dream I had last 
night. I dreamed it was graduation-day, but not the 
first of our college. A large number were to receive 
the degree of M. D. in one of the largest halls in 
the city, and in presence of the first men of the State ; 
and Mrs. Mott was also there, with other ladies who 
had labored hard to make a place for women. Soon, 
a great number of medical students from the 1 Penn- 
sylvania Medical University/ entered ; and some of 
12 * 


274 


Was it an Inheritance f 


them had baskets on their arms ; and the baskets were 
covered. As so many brought them in, and it 
was not a market-place, two or three men arose, and 
went and removed the covers, and behold, thore were 
stale eggs ! And then these men took these students 
by their collars and led them out of the hall ; and 
when the men returned, behold ! there were police- 
men’s stars upon their breasts ; and it became apparent 
that there were not less than seventy such stars upon 
the breasts of as many men, in various parts of the 
hall ; but all the stars had been concealed.* 

“ But I must tell you of yesterday. The day was 
highly auspicious, and the hall of the new college was 
crowded. The speeches were excellent, and by some 
of the ablest men in the State. But, confining my- 
self to personal descriptions, I will begin with the 
President, and Originator of the whole enterprise — 
the man who has spared neither time nor money, for 
the accomplishment of what he suggested, and others 
have so nobly endorsed and labored for. In the first 
place, he is a sunbeam — always sees the cheerful side 
of everything — and his good spirits are contagious. 
He is a dapper little man, wears spectacles, and his 
dress ‘ has neither spot, nor wrinkle, nor any such 
thing.’ His forehead is high, and ample, and appears 
somewhat receding ; but this is mainly an appearance, 
caused by the exceeding fulness of the perceptive 
faculties, which hang in beetling, yet comely arches 
above his quick, hazel eyes. One seldom encounters 
* Similar facts, it is said, did occur in 1868. 


Or , Nannie Grant. 


275 


his full and steady gaze, which is probably owing to a 
defective vision ; and he is too well-bred to be guilty 
of a stare. He instinctively knows all with whom he 
comes in contact. His intuition is simply wonderful. 
His clear and exact discriminations are the result of 
the finest instinct — natural acumen — rather than of 
an effort of slower reason. His mouth expresses 
great delicacy and gentleness, combined with firmness 
and intensity of purpose. His chin is full, but not 
large ; is well-made, with a deep dimple in its centre, 
and the double-chin well developed. He wears no 
beard. His nose is his most remarkable feature, and by 
far the most difficult to describe. Abounding in strik- 
ing curves, it is at the same time perfectly symmetrical 
in its proportion and relation to the other features 
of his face. A physiognomist might briefly thus de- 
scribe it, ' First, as most noticeable, relative defence 
very large ; self-defence, smaller, but by no means 
deficient; attack, large; sagacity, very large; 
acquisitiveness, fair. The man is decidedly original, 
and apt to teach.* But as I am neither a phrenologist, 
nor physiognomist, you do not expect me to give you 
a scientific detail of his characteristics ; yet, I think, 
that taking the whole individual, face, head, form, 
person and movements into account, any critical ob- 
server, would pronounce him one of the finest speci- 
mens of symmetry. Keyed upon the strongest 
individuality, every feature and member, though 
marked by striking peculiarities, harmonizes with all 
the rest. 


276 


Was it an Inheritance f 


“ The geniality and frankness of his disposition is 
almost child-like; and the indiscriminating would 
scarcely suspect such deep sagacity, behind a mien of 
such seeming simplicity. A few moments’ conversa- 
tion with him, when in certain moods, might leave 
on some minds, an impression of egotism; but I am 
told by those who have known him intimately for 
years, that he was never known to arrogate to him- 
self praise that was not his own just due, or to de- 
rogate from another’s good name, to exalt his own ; 
therefore, the worst accusation an enemy should make 
against him is the liaboring of a harmless vanity ; 
which, though it may be a weakness, is scarcely a 
sin ; while his friends construe the same as but obedi- 
ence to the Divine command. ‘ Let your light so 
shine before men, that they may see your good works 
and glorify your Father which is in Heaven.’ 

“ I have written so full a description of our Presi- 
dent that I must defer that of the rest of the Faculty 
till another time, as I want to tell you what I thought, 
and how I felt, which I fear I cannot do so well then. 
Suffice for the present, that the Professors were as 
fine-looking men as one need see — including tall and 
short, stout and slim, small and large, florid and col- 
orless, fair and dark, (but mostly dark,) all types of 
manhood well-developed, physically, mentally, and 
morally. 

“ In true Quaker style they had no music. This 
I regretted much. Don’t call me superstitious now, 
Sadie, but I did listen for the h evenly choirs; 


Or y Nannie Grant. 


277 


for I know they could not behold such a sight as this 
without improvising a new song of ‘ blessing, and 
honor, and glory, and power, and dominion, unto 
Him who sitteth upon the throne and to the Lamb 
that was slain/ — that was slain to bring peace, and 
purity, and loving-kindness, and mercy, and good- 
will to every son and daughter of Adam. 

“I thought of the thousands of cases of jealousy, 
seduction, and deception consequent upon the mono- 
poly of the profession by male practitioners, and of 
women and young girls, who, because possessed of 
true womanly delicacy, suffer life-long miseries, or 
death, on account of this monopoly. 

“ I thought of pure, noble, and high-toned young 
men, who entered the medical profession with the 
best of motives and the truest hearts, called to the 
sick-bed of her who leads him to the paths that i take 
hold on hell/ — and when I thought of all these things, 
and that this day had ushered in the dawn of better 
times, and I remembered how the blessed Lamb for- 
gave a Magdalen, and commissioned her as the first 
Christian minister to bear the glad tidings of a risen 
Lord, even before the Apostles, who had spent years 
in His society ; surely, surely thought I, woman re- 
ceives but the reflex influence of Christianity yet; 
and we have so long groped in the twilight of its 
dawning, that our eyes almost refuse the brightening 
beams of the day of the Son of Man. 

“ Don’t tell me it was the imagination of an enthu- 
siast that heard the angels sing ! God were not God, 


278 


Was it an Inheritance f 


truth and purity were not of heaven, or heaven had 
no sympathy with mortals, if angels did not hover 
near that hall. 

“ And if a heavenly messenger said truly unto her 
of whom was born Him who brought salvation to us 
all, i blessed art thou among women/ why might 
they not have said with us, of him whose brain and 
heart had entertained and given birth to this enter- 
prise, destined to bless and save so many men and 
women, ‘ blessed art thou among men, the Holy Ghost 
has come upon thee, and the power of the Highest 
has overshadowed thee.’ For the vessel is honored by 
the gift it bears, and is not every good thought the gift 
of the Most High f I wished Father was there, and 
I hope he was. 

u If this letter seems extravagant, please remember 
I am a school-girl now, and a woman, only thirty 
years old, — that is all. But this letter is enormously 
long, and I will draw it to a close. Tell me all about 
yourself, and soon. Love from Mother and 

“ Your affectionate Ruth.” 

Several weeks passed, during which Sarah’s symp- 
toms sometimes flattered, sometimes discouraged her. 

The letters she exchanged with her cousin were an 
unrivalled consolation to her, while the short and 
occasional ones she received from her mother and 
distant sister Abbie — short, contrasted with Ruth’s — 
assisted to buoy up her sinking spirits. 

She took occasional drives when her health per- 


Or , Nannie Grant. 


279 


mittea, and these always seemed to benefit her; but as 
her purse was light, and her necessary weekly bills 
very heavy, she seldom indulged herself in this, 
which she deemed a luxury. 

Faithfully she fulfilled all her physician’s orders, 
walking, gymnastics, baths, calisthenics, diet. She 
urged herself through all, fighting painful conflicts 
with nature as if she was leagued with disease, strain- 
ing the sore and stiffened muscles with remorseless 
fidelity to prescriptions, dragging her body about 
when it called through every nerve for rest, rest ; and 
forcing herself through exercises quite sufficient for a 
woman in robust health. Still was health no nearer 
than on the day she parted from her friends. 

Only the drives and scenery were a pleasure to 
her. “The Cure” had no God but wealth, no books 
but such as the patients brought or borrowed from 
the town-library when they were allowed to go there, 
no news but the petty scandal concocted by, for and 
concerning its inmates. Dear Mrs. S , the sweet- 

voiced auntie remained but a fortnight. But the 
mountains were ever new, and they alone spoke to 
her of Heaven and the rest she sighed for. December 
came, and as the cold increased so did her mental 
restlessness. 

The most monotonous walk, if brisk, relieved the 
mental excitement, but only to increase it when dis- 
continued. Yet the prescriptions remained un- 
changed. Flattered by false hopes, deluded by 
specious reasoning, she remained till near the close 


280 


Was it an Inheritance f 


of the year, when she removed to the White Sulphur 
Springs at Clifton New York. A brief extract from 
one of her letters to Kuth will best explain her im- 
pressions and condition at that time. 

“I could scarcely sit up in the sleigh to ride the 
few rods from the depot to the ‘Cure’ so exhausted 
was my little stock of strength. This is the place to 
which I should have come at first. Six hundred 
guests are accommodated here in summer, though now 
there are but sixty patients. They are like a quiet, 
orderly Christian family. Gentleness is the rule from 
doctor down to bath-maid. No need of bribes, 
bravado, finesse or diplomacy to obtain the necessities 
of life or treatment. In all the long time Fve been 
here now, I have met only the utmost kindness from 
all. 

“So one has an opportunity for rest. Would you 
believe it? I slept almost constantly for four suc- 
cessive days before commencing treatment , and Dr. 

F says that is the best treatment I could have. 

I suppose the change from mountain air to the 
sulphur air would have the credit of that from most 
persons, but I know that the moral, and social 
atmosphere had much to do with it too. We have 
an excellent library, chapel and church-services, peri- 
odicals, all the best, and intelligent, refined society. 
I know now that I am improving in mind and body. 
In mind perhaps because in body, and in body be- 
cause in mind. 

“ By the way, have you heard from mother recently? 


Or, Nannie Grant 


281 


I have written a half-dozen letters to her and Wil- 
liam and little Joe, as I call him to distinguish him 
from brother Joe, and received no reply. Tell me if 
you know anything about her for I am exceedingly 
anxious.” 

That institution was eleemosynary in its character, 
to some extent ; and though it was humilating to re- 
ceive charity, even in the mild form of reduced bills, 
she was necessitated to do so. 

Letters from her mother came again at long inter- 
vals; but she was always an irregular correspon- 
dent. 

Time passed, and Sarah, with improving health, 
still regained at the Springs; she was making herself 
known to the reading public as an author, though as 
yet her efforts brought her scarcely enough to meet 
her weekly expenses, reduced as they were; Mrs. 
Grant finally wrote her, with tears, which she took 
care should leave no traces on her letter, "If you 
are pleasantly situated, you had better remain there. 
Though I should enjoy a visit with you very much 
indeed, I cannot invite you to come just now, as I do 
not believe it would be well for you to do so.” This 
was her last letter to her daughter. 

At length Ruth wrote, "I am about to take a part- 
ner, my dear Sadie, not in professional business, but — 
well, I might as well tell it in a business-like manner 
— Mr. Brown, an honest, intelligent, succesful, busi- 
ness man; an upright, religious and ‘ affectionate 9 
gentleman (of course), is about to join our family 


282 


Was it an Inher itance f 


circle, and displace my honored patronymic, by sub- 
stituting the one he makes honorable. 

“ Come to our home, and make me perfectly happy 
by making it yours a3 long as you are satisfied to re- 
main.” 

Sarah accepted the invitation, and thenceforth their 
homes were one. 

But though the cities of New York and Philadel- 
phia may be called adjacent, and Sarah made several 
journeys to the former place in search of her friends, 
and availed herself of every aid. of directories, police, 
advertising, and personal search, assisted by Mr. and 
Mrs. Brown ; nearly twenty years elapsed after the 

separation at L , and mother and daughter did 

not meet. 


Or , Nannie Grant, 


283 


CHAPTER XVI. 

UNEQUAL CONFLICTS 



IHE years swept by, bearing, as is their wont, 


_J_ ills which, distributed among mankind, must 
crush them, were not each evil coupled with a good 
on which the hand of the Divine Giver still retains 
his hold, and thus buoys up the soul. 

Yet, with our human eyes, we see some persons 
groaning beneath burdens that almost bow them to 
the dust; while others stride along with careless 
hands and high-tossing heads; and we charge injus- 
tice on the Power that gave the years their stores ; 
forgetting that the store of each new year, is but the 
accumulations of the old, and that, looking upon 
those accumulations, this same Power, in pity for our 
lot, places within each trembling hand a cord which 
opens the casement of the celestial coteries, from 
which the new-fledged blessings flock like doves of 
peace. And this cord we call prayer. 

Through faith in good, as mightier than its foe, we 
know that somehow from this great chaos of moral 
forces, which we, as being part thereof, cannot com- 
prehend, the highest good must be eliminated. 

But, as atoms of this seemingly chaotic mass, en- 
dured with will } each intelligence becomes a foe or 


284 


Was it an Inheritance f 


ally of the Great Presiding Will, and hence respon- 
sible to the limit of its power, for the speedy triumph 
of the good. 

Let us see what these years have brought to Nan- 
nie Grant. 

"Well, Granny, Pm going to bring you some com- 
pany pretty soon. How will that suit you ?” 

"Who? Joe, tell me quick,” as she saw by his face 
that he was in earnest. Oh! if I could only see 
Sarah , it would be worth more than all the world 
beside, but I expect she is dead, or she surely would 
write” 

"Oh! don’t go off into another string of your 
lingo about ‘ Sarah , 9 I’m sick and tired of that. 
(He might have added, ‘I burned a letter for you, 
which I know was from her, this morning,’ but did 
not). There are other folks in the world besides 

those you knew in L . Why don’t you make 

something of the neighbors ?” 

"Joe, I never did, and I never can get into the 
ways of such folks as these around us.” 

" Well, it’s them, or nobody, you’ll find.” 

" Then it’s nobody. I’ll live in the memories of 
the past, for none that I meet here can take the place 
of the loved ones that are gone,” and the tears began 
to flow down her wrinkled cheeks. 

Joe began to whistle in a loud and boisterous man- 
ner, and strode up and down the room with his hands 
in his pockets. 

"Well, I told you I was going to bring some one 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


285 


here, and you haven’t taken the least notice of it. 
You can’t expect a fellow’s going to be so dreadful 
good to you, if you don’t take an interest in his 
affairs. I’m going to get married next week, and to 
a likely sort of a girl too. I reckon you and she 
won’t quarrel much.” 

“ Joseph /” said Mrs. Grant, looking up in amaze- 
ment, “ are you in earnest?” 

“ Never was more in earnest in my life. Why 
shouldn’t I ?” 

“ But you are so young.”) 

“ Guess I’m old enough to know my own affairs.” 

“ Not of this kind, Joe. But your father — you will 
wait till he comes home ; it will be only a month, and 
he’d like to be at the wedding.” 

“ Ain’t going to have any wedding. Going to be 
married like sensible poor folks, as we are.” 

“ But, Joe, if you are going to marry some poor 
girl, your father isn’t so very poor, and would like 
his only son to have a decent wedding, I’m sure.” 

“ And I’m sure he wouldn’t; at any rate he’d want 
him to wait about five years, first, and I don’t mean 
to do that, You’re always fussing, and I can’t have 
anything as I want it. If I had a wife of my own, 

I could have things to suit me. You’re full of old- 
fashioned notions, and I won’t stand it. ’Tain’t such 
an awful thing in the city to be married quietly, as 
you seem to think it is. If everybody made wed- 
dings and funerals here as they do in L , there’d 

be nothing else done but attend them, and nothing 


286 


Was it an Inheritance f 


else heard but church-bells. Lillie is just the nicest 
girl in the city of New York. She’ll kind o’ take 
the place o’ your Sarah, you talk so much about.” 

“ Not in my heart,” said Nannie, mentally, but 
only mentally, as the tears started afresh. 

“ Egh ? what do you say, old gal ? ” 

“I have nothing more to say, only I wish you 
would wait till your father comes home; and that I’m 
sorry I do not suit you when I try so hard. If she 
is a nice girl as you say, maybe William wouldn’t 
object, and he would feel so much better satisfied 
if you let him know about it before it was all 
over.” 

“ She is a mighty nice girl, but I shan’t wait for 
‘the governor?’” 

Joe was in liquor now. He had some idea what 
he was saying, but had taken enough drink to make 
him irritable and disrespectful, which he was not 
when sober. In common with all humanity he liked 
his own way, but was not usually self-willed or head- 
strong. The reader will recall the words of Dr. 
Phelps regarding him, “entirely destitute of the 
power of controlling himself under excitement,” and 
possess the key to his future acts. 

He had been reared with great care by his Quaker 
grand-parents ; for his mother died when he had j ust 
reached his fifth year, leaving him to their care, 
where he remained till death claimed the grand- 
mother, and her husband abandoned the old home for 
that of one of his sons, when Joe was removed to 


Or y Nannie Grant. 287 

New York, to reside with his father and paternal 
grand-mother. 

But though his aged relatives had endeavored to 
surround his infancy and youth with the best of home 
and educational influences, the tinder was in his con- 
stitution, and the torch in many social circles he 
entered, and in the saloons that occupied very many 
of the street-corners ; % and now, when he was not yet 
twenty years of age, the conflagration was well 
begun. 

Mrs. Grant reflected a few moments. “ I should 
like to see your Lillie. Can’t you bring her here ? ” 

“ Maybe. When?” and the boy seemed pleased. 

“ This evening, if it will suit you and her.” 

“ No, by g — y ! Not to night ! ” 

“ Why not?” 

Joe made some trivial excuse, but the truth was, 
he would not for the world have had her see him in 
his present condition, or know of it. 

“ Well, my dear grandson, any time you choose, I 
shall be glad to see her.” 

A few evenings after this he entered with a young 
girl upon his arm. 

She was a beautiful blonde, and her name became 
her well ; for she was slender and graceful, and very 
fair. She had a pleasant smile, and winning manner, 
that captivated the heart of Mrs. Grant. 

A sadness brooded over her features the instant 
they were at rest, and her eyes seemed familiar with 
tears. She was orphaned of both parents, and had 


288 Was it an Inheritance f 

been reared, since the age of ten, by a maiden-aunt 
of her mother. 

Her father had been a clergyman, but a protracted 
illness, which culminated in his death, left his only 
and motherless child in penury, in the hands of this 
aged relative who had herself been a pensioner upon 
his family. 

Together they had struggled with want, and “ sung 
the Song of the Shirt,” until at last the old lady 
folded her weary hands, and was carried to her “ long 
home.” It was probably because Lillie had divided 
her time between her needle and teaching the rudi- 
ments of music, that she had not gone, like her rela- 
tives, to “ the better land.” 

“ Grand-mother, this is my Lillie,” said J oe, with 
an air of pride and affection, as he scanned the face 
of his relative. 

“ I am glad to see you,” said the old lady. She 
took her hand cordially, the lips of beauty touched 
the withered cheek, and the old eyes grew moist as 
they glanced at the weeds of mourning. 

Taking her hat, Mrs. Grant gazed at it sadly and 
said, “ You are young, yet Death has found your 
home, too. Joe didn’t tell me.” 

“ Didn’t he ? I thought he would.” 

And then it was all explained. 

They had met in the family of one of his college 
friends (for he was yet a student), where she was 
giving music-lessons, and had learned to love each 
other. 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


289 


“We were both orphaned,” said she, “and so love 
came easy to us because we needed it ; for though his 
father is living, he says he is and always has been 
away so much, that he scarcely feels as though he 
had one. And when aunt died last month, and he 
made me tell him how my affairs stood, I was obliged 
to say that the month would be up next day, and I 
had nothing but our furniture to pay the rent with ; 
because, you see, it took every penny to bury Auntie, 
and I couldn’t have her buried in a rough box, and 
in the potter’s-field, though she begged me to, and 
said it wouldn’t make any difference. Then Joe 
wanted to give me money, and I wouldn’t take it; 
and he was almost angry, and asked me if I expected 
him to see me turned into the street. He wanted 
me to come here; but I couldn’t, and auntie just 
dead. But I told him God would provide some way ; 
and, sure enough, He did ; for Mr. Price, where I 
give lessons, said as he was going away and shouldn’t 
be home to pay when the quarter was up, he would 
pay me in advance. Was it not strange? I should 
have thought he would have left the money with his 
wife, to pay when it was due . But God put it into 
his heart to help me just then.” 

“ More like he daren’t trust it in his wife’s hands, 
lest she would spend it all for furbelows,” said Joe. 

“ But the Lord sent it, all the same,” she replied. 

“ But that was last month, and you will lack just 
so much this month,” said Mrs. Grant. 

“Oh, that is provided for,” said she, blushing. 

13 


290 


Was it an Inheritance f 


“How? if I may ask.” 

Lillie cast an appealing look at Joe. 

“ She has paid it with her furniture, which she will 
not need any more, for she is interested in what I 
have up-stairs.” 

“ Joe ! you are not married ?” 

He nodded; and a silence of some seconds fol- 
lowed, when Mrs. Grant said, “ Your father will not 
object to your choice y Fm sure ; but you are so young 
that I think he will wish you had waited till you 
had finished your studies. For myself, I only wish 
I might have seen the ceremony.” 

“We went to the church, Grandmother, and had 
no witness but the sexton. Lillie did not want a 
wedding so soon after her aunt’s death, and then who 
was there to invite ? ” 

“ That is true, and I guess it is all right,” (sadly.) 

Joe was at home now all the time when he was 
not at his studies, and his grandmother began to feel 
that the wisest thing he had ever done, was to bring 
Lillie to shed the sweet perfume of her influence in 
his home. 

Captain Grant came in due time, and to his mother 
fell the duty of informing him of and explaining the 
step his son had taken. At first he was angry ; but 
when he learned all the circumstances, and that since 
his marriage he had given up his old associates and 
habits, and not once had he come home with the odor 
pf alcohol about his person, he became reconciled to 
* the least of two evils/ for Joe’s years did not yet 


Or, Nannie Grant . 291 

number a score. So the way seemed smooth for the 
young people, after all. 

“ Only, don’t give up your studies, my boy,” the 
captain said. “ Don’t get an idea that you are a full- 
grown man because you have a wife, and so set 
up for life on present acquirements. I can make a 
home for you and Lillie, as well as for you alone, and 
she will be company for grandma. Maybe it’s better, 
after all, as it is.” 

Captain Grant was still at the summit of manhood, 
and no apparent disease was upon him ; yet he was 
nervous and restless, at times trembling feebly, and 
then again irritable, intolerant and irascible. At 
other times he seemed quite himself again. 

One night his mother awoke in alarm. It was 
after midnight, and the family had retired at ten ; 
yet she was sure she heard the steady tramp of feet 
in the captain’s room. She listened. It was her 
son's step. She rapped upon the wall, and called to 
him, “ Are you sick, my son ? ” 

“No, mother; never mind me.” 

“What is the matter?” 

“Just you go to sleep I’m all right.” 

But when this followed night after night, her 
agitation upon the subject became almost insupport- 
able, though she did not mention it to the young 
people. 

At length, one morning after three o’clock, when 
she had listened all night to the steady tramp, tramp, 
tramp of her son’s shoeless feet, and thought of 


292 


Was it an Inheritance ? 


“Captain Kidd ” and all the fearful tales she had read or 
heard of pirates, robbers, and bloodthirsty and passion- 
ate sea-captains, till she could endure suspense no longer, 
she arose and throwing a wrapper about her person 
tapped at his door. He opened it, and seemed not 
annoyed by her presence as she had expected him to 
be. His feet were bare, and he looked haggard and 
weary. He had not disrobed and his bed was un- 
rumpled. 

“ My dear son,” said she, “ I cannot sleep know- 
ing as I do that something dreadful troubles you. I 
am your mother. You were my first baby, and be- 
cause your father was absent during the fearful 
struggle I held with death when you first saw the 
light, and I shared your tears and smiles, and watch- 
ed your growth and pretty ways for both him and 
myself, during many months, I have always felt that 
you were particularly mine. 

“ And now when all my old friends, and your 
father and all my children but you are gone, and I have 
you only occasionally, how can I sleep knowing you 
walk your room all night? Something is the matter, 
and something that troubles you a great deal. Let 
me share it with you.” 

“I thought as my feet were bare you would not 
hear them. Sit down, mother. You look pale and 
worried. I’m a wretch or I wouldn’t trouble you 
so.” 

She sat down and drew a chair beside her, and 
signed for him to occupy it. 


Or, Nannie Grant 293 

“No, no! I can’t mother. It seems as if all the 
imps in hell would have me if I sat down?” 

“My son!” 

“Yes, mother, it’s just as bad as that ! Talk of hell- 
fire ! If there’s any fire that’s worse than this I have in 
my nerves, I don’t know what being is created to 
bear it! ‘The fire that can never be quenched,’ 
(with a sneer.) Yes, that is it, the fire that never can 
be quenched, for the more you apply the check, the 
higher and fiercer it burns. It smothers it for a 
time, and then it breaks out into a flame ten times 
hotter than before !” 

Her countenance was absolutely ghastly, and she 
shook as with an ague. 

“Tell me, my son, what have you been doing?” 

“Why, mother,” said he, “you don’t think I’ve 
killed anybody, do you? Yes, I have though, but 
it’s myself — it’s self-murder I’m guilty of J” 

“Is the child crazed?” she murmured with her 
bright, black eyes glaring upon his face. 

“No, I’m not crazy, but just coming to my senses 
when it’s too late. I haven’t killed anybody but 
myself yet, but the Lord only knows how soon I 
may, for this accursed drink will drive me clean 
stark mad at this rate. Mother, J’m a drunkard ,” 
said he, stopping and confronting her, for he had 
resumed his walk the moment she was admitted. 

“ Oh, Willie ! you told me only yesterday that you 
drink no more now than you did at twenty-five J” 

“That’s true. But I’m a drunkard for all that. 


294 


Was it an Inheritance t 


Fve been right-down drunk three times on this last 
trip, and when I am not drunk this blazing fiend has 
possession of me half the time. It’s a fact mother, 
when I take a dram, (no more than I’ve taken the last 
twenty years, for I won’t take more), I’m all right 
for an hour or so, (that is, if it don’t intoxicate me 
which it does sometimes,) and then I want more and 
I won’t take it, because I started out to be as moderate 
as father was, and I am determined not to be a 
guzzler. Then all the powers of the nether regions 
are let loose upon me !” 

“ I always thought you were like your father. You 
certainly have a strong will, and that is like him. 
When your arm was broken when you were a little 
boy, the doctor said he never saw a child with such 
grit as you had. It was dreadfully bruised as well as 
broken, but you did not make a loud noise when he 
set it.” 

“ Mother, I could have an arm or limb amputated 
and not flinch. Ho one should ever tie me for 
such an operation !” 

“ Then why cannot a will like that say ‘ no ’ to this 
appetite, and let you sit down or lie down and be 
quiet?” 

“Will! Will?” said he, turning to her with flash- 
ing eyes; “do you talk to me about will? Yes I did 
have a will once, I had an iron will, but I willed to 
be A fool ; and now I have got my master . I tell 
you will has nothing to do with it ! It is disease . 

“ It is disease ! Every nerve in my body is 


Or, Nannie Grant 


295 


crying for alcohol. My fingers* ends want it as much 
as my palate. I never exercised one-half the will- 
power in all my life before, that I have in fighting 
the drink-fiend, and yet I cannot sit or lie down, 
and be quiet. It is disease, back of, over , above, 
beyond the reach of my will, and I cannot control it ! 

“ Go to bed, mother, go to bed, and to sleep ; and 
let me fight it out alone. What troubles me most is 
I’m afraid I shall wreck my passengers, sometime.” 

“ But, my son, I cannot rest when you are in such 
distress. Maybe it isn’t the liquor. I don’t see why 
it should affect you so. It never did your father, but 
his was purer, I suppose, than what you get nowa- 
days.” 

“ There maybe a little something in that, but it’s 
more because ‘ the sins of the fathers are visited upon 
the children;’ and here’s my Joe — much as I love 
him, I wish in my heart he had gone to his grave in 
his infancy, or never been born /” 

“ Oh, Willie! you must be crazy!” 

“No. That is a sane thought, for I know what 
he’ll come to. Mother it’ll be a miracle, sent by that 
angel Lillie, if he isn’t a fearful drunkard; and it 
would be a great comfort to me to be sure he’d die 
without committing murder. 

“ His nerves are like a heap of tinder, or a bale of 
tow — a spark sets them all on fire, and his grand- 
father, and especially his father, have created and 
hoarded this diseased condition for him. Just look 
at it, mother ! I am the most temperate of all your 


290 


Was it an Inheritance f 


sons, and I was the first, and the most like father. 
He seemed to have no nerves, they were so strong ; 
but he poisoned them with liquor, and pushed the 
disease off himself onto his children ; and we took 
such as he gave us, modified by the condition you 
happened to be in, and I’ve continued the poisoning, 
till I, the strongest one, am here, fighting with 
all Inferno! 

“You've no idea what a death George died, 
mother. I had a passenger on my last trip that was 
his doctor, and I shouldn't like to give you the de- 
scription he gave me ; but it was the drink that killed 
him. And he's seen Joe, brother Joe, often of late 
years, and, well, I'll not tell. Father poisoned our 
nerves, and I rasped, and stung and irritated mine, 
with this abominable stuff for years before I became 
Joe's father, and just see what he is ! Yes, yes ! I 
confess it. I have already killed somebody besides 
myself. I’ve JciUed my only child /" 

“Oh, Willie! you really are beside yourself, for 
Joe hasn't touched a drop since he was married." 

“That's wonderful! and he’s been married about 
three weeks . My word for it , mother, he'll return to 
it again, and be far worse than before. I've no right 
to expect anything else, with the embers of my drink, 
raked up in the very germ of his being. He begun 
life in the same stage of alcoholic poison that I was 
in when I became his father, and his mother hadn't 
individuality of constitution enough, to turn the dis- 
ease into another form ; and so he has the fiends to 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


297 


fight as many years younger than I had, as the num- 
ber of years I had the start of him in life. And 
worse yet, he has those to fight, that I put there in 
addition to those my father gave me. They’ve grown 
with his growth, and strengthened with his strength. 
And here are all these licensed pit-falls on the streets 
— mere valves that open downward to the bottomless 
pit — and his own father standing before him setting 
the example of self-destruction ! What can you ex- 
pect of the hoy f Can I blame him f 

“ Ah ! it’s the wise old heads , cool and calculating, 
who, for a few dollars, to save them taxes (which they 
pay twice over after all), or for an official position, 
will sell the keepers of these gates to the infernal re- 
gions the chance or privilege to keep them open — 
these gates, that not only swallow up those \tho enter 
them, but send out forked tongues to lick and lap up 
innocent babes, as my Joe was lapped up ; these men 
are those that are to blame, and, as sure as there’s a 
just God in Heaven, He’ll remember them and their 
works. Though they may climb to the highest pin- 
nacle of earthly fame, their scaffolding is built upon 
these very valves; and when his Satanic majesty 
thinks they have gone high enough to serve his ends, 
he’ll just knock out the block and the drop will fall, 
and they’ll land deeper in the pit, the higher they 
have climbed! I tell you, mother, you’ve no idea 
what this battle is ! Set a puny man to fighting hare- 
armed with a LEGION OF DEVILS ! and that, with an- 
13 * 


298 


Was it an Inheritance? 


other in him, playing traitor on every muscle of that 
arm !” 

Suddenly, clasping her hands, and falling upon her 
knees, “Oh ! Willie, pray! pray! If God comes 
in, he can drive the devil out !” 

“ Mother, I believe you ; that is the only salvation 
for any man that has such an appetite to fight ; but,” 
said he in calmness that was itself the most vivid 
image of despair, “ I have shut the door so tight, and 
held it so long, that I believe it has grown fast. A 
mere man can’t conquer the Evil One alone. It isn’t 
in reason that he should, but if he can get the Lord 
in, Satan can’t stay.” 

“ Oh, Willie ! don’t try to fight, but just thrust the 
Lord Jesus Christ between you and your enemy. He 
came to "do that, and he will, if you’ll let Him. Stand 
back and give him a chance. He’ll save you, my 
son!” 

“ But, mother, it is a fact that to think of His com- 
ing to me, brings a sort of numbness like terror, all 
over my feelings, and I can only hold my breath, as 
if the earth had opened under me, and I didn’t know 
where I was falling. I am awe-stricken and dumb.” 

“ But you’re thinking of the sword , Willie. You 
don’t know the Lord Jesus, and how kind He is.” 

“ It wasn’t so with me once,” (musingly), “ but I 
have steeped my whole being so thoroughly, in alco- 
hol, that my moral faculties are benumbed, till I can 
‘ believe and tremble/ as the devils do, and that is 
all!” 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


299 


Thus he ran on till daylight looked in at the win- 
dows, and the sun arose to “ shine upon the evil and 
the good.” 

There was a sorrowful parting between that aged 
mother and her son, when his ship sailed, a few days 
later. It was like burying the last hope ; and Lillie 
was like a ministering angel to her then. 

Joe had resumed his studies with renewed vigor; 
indeed, had scarcely allowed them to be interrupted 
at all. 

He had already learned, by sad experience, that 
total abstinence was his only safe-guard, and Lillie 
had been reared in its strictest principles and practice. 
All now “ went merry as a marriage-bell ” with them. 

Nannie kept the secret council of her son, and they 
were none the wiser for his struggles. 

Three months had barely passed when Joe came 
home one evening, as in former times, “ the worse 
for liquor.” 

This, to Lillie, was “ like a clap of thunder from 
a clear sky.” At first she blamed herself for having 
done something, inadvertently, that displeased him ; 
but w r hen grandma told her it was but a return to 
an old vice, which she had anticipated with fear, it 
almost broke her heart. 

The next day brought to Joe such penitence as he 
had never known before ; for Lillie, his sweet Lillie 
whom he idolized, was very, very ill ; and the doctor 
said there was no cause but mental agitation. For 
several days she lay completely prostrated, and her 


300 


Was it an Inheritance f 


mind wandering ; — weeping and moaning that some- 
thing was “ lost, gone, gone forever.” 

This turned aside his mind from drink for several 
weeks, till again he was tempted by an old associate, 
and took the cup ; after which he seemed to have less 
courage, and the occurrence became more frequent. 

Joe came home one evening, sober, but pale and 
agitated. 

“ Where is Lillie, Grandma?” 

“ I guess she is up-stairs. Are you sick, child? 
How pale you are, and you have a chill. Have you 
taken cold?” 

“ Fm not very well, I have a headache,” ana he 
ascended the stairs with difficulty. 

“ Oh, Lillie! Lillie!” said he, throwing himself 
upon the bed, “I have dreadful news. Bolt the 
door, and don’t let grandma in. I wouldn’t have 
her hear for the world.” 

His wife did as requested, and then sat by his side. 
“ It must be something dreadful, how you shake ! ” 

“ Oh, Lillie ! Father will never come home again !” 

“You do not mean that he is dead! Do calm 
yourself, my dear ! Such alarm can do no one any 
good. Tell me about it.” 

“ He is dead ! dead ! Lost at sea ! Gone down 
under the waves, and nearly all on board have gone 
with him.” 

“ How did it happen ? Was there a storm ?” 

“ Yes, a fearful storm, and the steamer struck a 
rock when they were entering a harbor. In the 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


301 


night, it was. They were miles from the shore, and 
Mr. Jones, who just told me, and who helped me to 
get home, or I never could have come, said nobody 
but a crazy man would have attempted to go into 
that port in such a storm as that.” 

“ Who is Mr. Jones?” 

“ Oh ! he is part-owner of the vessel. He says the 
particulars will all come out, and he spoke kind of 
cross about it, I thought.” 

“ He is sure father was lost?” 

“ Oh, yes. The first telegram told all about that, 
because he was the captain. He might have been saved, 
but lost his life in helping a woman with her babe.” 

u He died doing a noble act, then.” 

“ I think by Mr. J ones’ manner, that he thinks 
father was to blame for going into port. He might 
forgive a dead man.” 

“Were many others lost?” asked Lillie, after a 
pause. 

“ Not more than twenty were saved, and the 
steamer was filled with passengers. How ever we 
shall tell grandma, I’m sure I don’t know.” 

“ It will kill her.” 

“ 1 asked Mr. Jones to do it, but he said he wasn’t 
the one — that we might send for a preacher.” 

“ Maybe it isn’t so, after all. "We had better not 
tell her to-night.” 

But the sad news was confirmed on the morrow. 
Captain Grant, while intoxicated, had wrecked his 
steamer, and more than one hundred souls were 


302 


Was it an Inheritance f 


ushered into the great unknown. The disaster had 
sobered him, and he then did all that was in the 
power of one man to do for their safety and rescue. 

Nannie heard the account without a sigh, a mo- 
tion, or a tear. She passed into a senseless state, 
heeding neither sound, nor voice, nor consolation. 
They led her to her room, disrobed her, and laid her 
upon her bed; she neither resisted, nor recognized 
anything. 

For days she did not speak, nor eat, nor drink ; 
her face was pallid as death, and her dark eyes 
shining like burning stars, but staring and ex- 
pressionless. 

Lillie was untiring in her ministrations, and at 
last, by slow degrees, won back recognition, then at 
length prevailed upon her to take a little gruel, “ for 
Lillie’s sake,” who was so distressed because she did 
not eat ; but many weeks passed by before grandma 
was again at the fireside. 

Instead of being warned, Joe became worse than 
ever before. 

It is needless to follow the little family through 
the incidents of their fall from competency to pov- 
erty, from poverty to indigence, and from that to 
pauperism. 

In less than two years after her marriage, Lillie 
gave birth to a little son ; and, to please grandma, he 
was given the name of the little one laid so peacefully 

beneath the elms of L , in the happy “ long ago,” 

and the young mother was also pleased with the 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


303 


name, for it had been her father’s. Johnny was a 
bright and beautiful babe, and for many days both 
mother and child “ did well.” Joe was sober, and, 
as usual when so, was kind and affectionate. A 
prouder father than he, was never yet ; and both the 
mother and grandmother, in spite of past experiences, 
could but hope this new love might work an im- 
provement in his habits. 

Lillie had again taken her place at the family 
board, and though delicate, went about the house 
giving many little touches here and there, which 
made the room look cheery. 

In giving her the parting ki§s one morning, Joe 
said, “ I must take my Lillie to the park this eve- 
ning. She looks too white, and I think the air 
would do her good. What do you think, grandma?” 

“ Yes, by all means take her. I will care for little 
Johnny; only come home early, for it will be too 
cool for her towards evening. She ought not to ride 
more than an hour, or an hour and a half at most.” 

So it was arranged that he should come for her at 
three. 

“ You will be ready, pet!” and he patted her upon 
the cheek and left. 

She dressed at one, and then lay down to rest ; and 
watched and waited, listening to each foot-fall till 
the clock struck three. Then she arose and sat by 
the fire, for it was early in the fall, and the old lady 
said she must have her feet " nice and warm,” and 
brought a pair of thick over-socks, which she used to 


304 


Was it an Inheritance f 


wear in “dear New England,” and warmed and 
drew them on her feet, and a thick shawl hung by 
the fire, spread out upon two chairs, warming. 

And so they waited and waited till he came. They 
heard the hall-door opened, but not closed ; but the 
step in the hall was unsteady, and the women looked 
in each other’s faces. 

There was a fumbling for the latch. Lillie arose 
and opened the door, and J oe reeled in and fell upon 
the floor. The young wife turned to find a seat, but 
fell fainting beside her husband. 

The sound of their falling called Bridget from the 
kitchen, and her strong arms raised the drooping 
Lillie, and laid her upon her bed, from which she 
never arose. 

Five days the flower was withering, till at last one 
night the fragrant spirit was about to be transported 
from the beautiful form it had perfumed here, to one 
still more lovely, in which it should bloom and emit 
its sweet incense perennially, fast by the throne of 
God. 

She had been sleeping, but awoke, and smiling, 
said, “ Oh, Grandma ! it is all so beautiful ! I guess 
I’m going to die, now; and I’m glad! So very, very 
glad ! I want to take your hand.” 

She took it, and kissed it over and over, — the palm, 
the fingers, and all around. 

“ This dear hand has been so good to me,” and she 
laid it affectionately upon her cheek. 

“ Bring me the baby, please.” 


305 


Or, Nannie Grant . 

He was brought and laid in her bosom. 

u Oh, Johnny, Johnny! how Mamma wants to take 
you with her!” 

“ Move him up higher in the bed, grandma; I 
want his cheek to lie against mine. Dear little 
Johnny! Dear little baby! But the Lord knows 
best, and He says I can’t take you with me. But it 
won’t be long — won’t be long : but a minute seems 
long to be away from my darling, — and the minutes 
of eternity! Yet God says it is best, and He is good 
and wise, He knows best. Yes, little dear! He knows 
best. He’ll bring you there at last ; I know He will. 
Take hold of Mamma’s finger. There, now, Mam- 
ma’ll take hold of the dear Lord’s hand with her 
other hand, and so we’ll bring little Johnny up to 
heaven; and Grandma’ll take hold of Johnny’s hand, 
and so she’ll come. And Papa? Oh! Papa must 
take hold of Grandma’s hand, and then we’ll all be 
there; because — because — Jesus will put his arm right 
around us all, and lift us up. It won’t be long 
Grandma, till we shall all be together again; and 
there won’t be any whiskey there, and Mamma won’t 
be afraid her little boy’ll be a drunkard, for it’s only 
the water of life they drink up there. Oh, I’m glad ! 
So glad ! so glad ! ” 

“ Lillie,” said Mrs. Grant, “ I think the Lord does 
want you now. Shall I call Joe? You know how 
he is to-night.” 

“ Oh, yes! I want to see him, and to say ‘good- 


306 


Was it an Inheritance f 


bye/ I think he will not rave when he sees Fm 
really going. Do you think he will, Grandma?” 

“ I hope it will sober him, as his father was so- 
bered said the old lady. “So, Bridget, run up to 
the corner-saloon, I think he is there, and tell him 
Lillie is about to go, and wants to say ‘ good-bye/ 
And hurry back, and take the child.” 

The servant did as requested, and her steady feet 
making better speed than poor tipsey Joe’s, she took 
the child, and wrapping a shawl about him, ran from 
the fearful spectacle of death, into a neighbor’s house. 

“Oh, Grandma! they are beautiful!” said the 
dying saint, when they were alone. 

“What, child?” 

“Why, the angels! The room is full of them, 
and they are humming — oh — so — sweetly” — (whis- 
pering,) and a smile made her face radiant. 

Raising her hands quickly, — “ and there is mother ! 
— and father! — and Aunt Emma! — and they are ail 
singing , — ‘ Home, home, sweet, sweet home.’ Where 
are you, Grandma?” 

“ Here, my darling. Here’s my hand.” 

“Oh, yes! I can’t turn my eyes. The angels — 
have — charmed — them, — and — I shall — nev — er — 
see — earth — a — gain. Good-bye;” and she pursed 
up her lips for a kiss, which the withered lips of 
Nannie took from them. 

At that instant the door opened, and Joe reeled to 
the bed-side. Looking upon the glorified, yet ghastly 
face of his idolized wife, he caught her hands, which 


Or , Nannie Grant 307 

were raised in an attitude of adoration, and wept 
aloud. 

“ My wife ! My pet ! My darling Lillie, will you 
leave me? I cannot, cannot let you go!” 

“ She is almost gone,” said Nannie. 

“ Oh ! look at me, my flower, my sweet Lillie, look 
me in the face once more, and smile on your poor 
Joe ! Look, oh ! do look at me once more ! ” 

“ Joe, she sees the angels, she just said so as you 
came to the door; and that she should never see earth 
again. She has no sight for anything but heaven.” 

“She spoke then, did she? Then, Lillie, say that 
you forgive me for being a brute to you. Oh ! speak, 
and tell me so. Oh ! I can’t live and not know you 
have forgiven me ! Speak to me, Lillie ! Soeak to 
me!” 

Her breath came quicker and shorter — she was 
flitting. 

“ Speak to me! You must! Speak Lillie. Lillie!” 
and he shook her fiercely. 

“Oh! Joe, Joe, she cannot speak! Her tongue is 
cold in death.” 

“ Speak, Lillie, speak! You shall not go till you 
speak to me. Will you not speak to me?” and he 
struck a savage blow upon the side of that beautiful 
head, — then another, and another! 

Oh! Joe, don’t! don’t! she cannot speak!” and 
the withered arms, and trembling form were inter- 
posed to take the blows. 

“ You go to h — l ! ” and with clenched fist he struck 


308 


Was it an Inheritance f 


a dreadful blow upon that wrinkled brow, that felled 
her to the floor. Then followed kick after kick, till, 
without time to rise, grandma was kicked from the 
door, upon the street, and the lock turned behind her! 
Bridget, returning immediately after, alarmed the 
neighborhood ; the police forced the door, and there 
the maniac stood, beating and boxing the lovely clay 
from side to side, and with oaths exclaiming, “S peak 
to me, you huzzy ! Til cure your impudence !” 

But the sweet spirit was nestling in the bosom of 
the Good Father, and if tears could flow in heaven, 
weeping over the burning, galling manacles that 
bound the reason, and enslaved the soul of that poor 
bewildered object of her affections. What a fearful 
night was that to Nannie Grant! The dead body 
lying there so calm and still ; the wailing infant upon 
her lap, motherless, and worse than fatherless ; her 
grandson — the last relative whose present existence 
on earth was a reality to her, lying in a station-house, 
arrested for beating his dying wife. 

The billows of affliction rushed and rebounded — 
swept over, and over, and over her head, till she felt 
she was buried fathoms deep beneath those merciless 
waves, and their weight above her was so great, that 
she ceased to struggle . The season of acute pain had 
been so severe, and so protracted, that now a numb- 
ness, like that of paralysis, crept on her spirit, and 
she suffered as dumb brutes suffer, without a moan, or 
groan, or demonstration. Deserted, forsaken, shunned, 
sore and lame from those kicks and blows, crippled 


Or, Nannie Grant 


309 


with age, and one eye blackened and swollen till 
closed, by the blow upon her brow, poor Nannie 
tottered forth in the morning to procure Joe’s re- 
lease, that he might follow Lillie to the tomb. 
She succeeded, but not until noon of the following 
day, and the burial took place at three in the after- 
noon. 

Joe did not look on the dead face, nor down into 
the grave; for though he had been but three hours 
from the prison, his breath was rank with alcohol, 
and his brain bewildered by its effects. 

But he did not go out after the funeral, but walked 
the house ; catching the babe from Nannie’s lap, and 
smothering it with caresses till it wept ; then almost 
flinging it back with, “ That is just the way ; it is 
enough to curse a thing for me to love it ! My love 
is like a blasting fire ; it warms only to scorch and 
pain ! My God ! what was I made for ? Oh, that I 
were dead ! ” 

“ Do you think you are fit to die ?” said his grand- 
mother. 

“ No, I know I’m not fit to die, but where’s the 
hope of being better ? I’ve joined the Temperance 
Societies, and tried my best to stop ; and Lillie, blessed 
soul ! went with me to the Lodge many nights when 
she was sick enough to have been in bed ; and now 
she’s gone, and the grog-shops still remain ! I’ve given 
them notice not to let me have drink, but when the 
craving is on, I go and ask for it, and I assure you I 


310 


Was it an Inheritance? 


don’t know what I am doing then , and they give it to 
me all the same ! 

“ No, I’m not fit to die, but to live is only to earn 
a deeper place in hell ! for I have not the shadow of 
a hope of reformation with this appetite within, and 
these grog-shops all around me ! ” 

A ring at the door-bell, and Mr. Brace entered. 
He was the presiding-officer of the Lodge that had 
so long borne with, and tried to save him. 

“ Grant, I’ve come to say our Lodge meets to- 
night, and you ought to be there. There will be 
some excellent resolutions passed in memory of your 
wife, and I want you to hear them.” 

“ A man like me, inside of the Lodge-room ! My 
crime is known as far as I am known. Ah ! much 
farther, for it was published in the police-reports, 
and its nature was so horrible, that it is on every- 
body’s tongue. Can I ever hold my head up in re- 
spectable circles again ? I shall be either hated, de- 
spised, or feared, wherever I go. Indeed I hate, de- 
spise, and fear myself. The mark of Cain is on my 
brow, and I feel it as plainly as others will see 
it. 

“ Oh ! where’s the use ? you had better give me 
up entirely to the Evil One. I’m a ruined man ! ” 

“Yet, ‘ while there’s life, there’s hope.’ I want 
you to come back. Your name is on the roll yet, and 
I know it will make your wife happier in the new 
home she is in to-night, if she looks down and sees 
you in the Lodge-room, confessing and trying once 


311 


Or, Nannie Grant 

more. You had an angel of a wife, Joe, and you owe 
it to her to add this happiness to her heaven.” 

“Do you think she will know it, Mr. Brace?” 

“ Certainly she will. Doesn’t the Bible say, ‘ there 
is rejoicing in heaven over one sinner that repenteth,’ 
and do you suppose the Lord wouldn’t let her know 
what they were rejoicing about?” 

“ But it wouldn’t last long. I tell you there’s no 
use.” 

“ Yes, there is ; 1 while there is life there is hope.’ 
Believe not only in the principles of total-abstinence, 
but in the Lord, and in yourself. You can’t reform 
alone, but God and the Lodge will help you. If you 
give up, you’re surely lost ; you can’t be any more 
than lost if you keep trying, and you may be saved.” 

“By earnest argument and honest sympathy he 
was at length induced to go ; and the earnestness of 
that brother’s pleading before the Lodge, for that poor, 
tempted, and entangled man, and the love that 
prompted it, differed not in spirit from the pleading 
in 1 the temple not made with hands,’ for all tempted 
and entangled humanity ; and it was successful, and 
Joe forgiven.” 

When the vote was announced, Mr. Brace said, 
“now I hope we shall receive the brother in true 
Christian spirit. Don’t let him feel it is by sufferance 
but with cordiality, in view of and belief in the 
genuineness of his repentance and good resolutions, 
that we take him by the hand and call him 
‘ brother.’” 


312 


Was it an Inheritance f 


So Nannie’s heart grew lighter once again. 

Five years passed by, years of alternate hope and 
despair as Joe still maintained the struggle, now 
holding the demon by the throat, now held in turn. 

Immediately after the death of Lillie, they had re- 
moved to another portion of the city, where they, and 
the fearful transactions attending that event, were not 
associated, and except from his temperance friends, 
Joe tried to hide himself from all former acquaint- 
ances. It was now and here, that our friends Ruth 
and Sarah, with Abbie also, lost all trace of them. 

Mrs. Grant’s fingers were old and stiff to wield the 
pen, but were yet busy with the household labor, for 
as the family gradually went down, no servant could 
be employed to relieve her of any part of it. Joe 
could not be prevailed upon to write to his relatives. 
He was but too glad to be unknown to them. “If 
you want money to go to them, Granny,” he often 
said, “I will try to get it for you, but I do not 
want them here, and they would come if I should 
give them my address.” 

But no, “Granny” would not go to them, for here 
was little Johnny. She must hold fast to his little 
hand till the angels called for them. 

“ It won’t be long, won’t be long,” she said to her- 
self daily, and persevered. 

Five years we said had passed away, and one 
evening Joe reeled to his home and sat upon the 
steps, cursing himself as he often did for his cruelty 
to Lillie, and particularly for robbing her child . 


Or y Nannie Grant 


313 


Little Johnny, not observing his condition (for 
childhood learns, alas ! how soon, that with alcohol 
comes cruelty) approached with, “ Papa, papa, why 
don’t you buy me toys as Jakie’s father does him?” 

“ The devil take you !” he muttered with clenched 
teeth, and catching the child up, quick as thought he 
tossed him upon the stones in the middle of the street, 
and the hoofs of two horses attached to a heavy laden 
street-car were trampling on his face, his limbs, his 
body. Bleeding, mangled, insensible, robbed of an 
eye, with a crushed foot and a broken arm, the little 
body was laid upon poor Nannie’s lap. 

“Oh, God! Oh, Lillie! Oh, God!” was all the 
poor old crone could say. “ Oh, Lillie ! Lillie ! draw 
him up now! Draw him up! He has your hand. 
And I? Oh! I will hold a little longer upon Joe if 
the Lord says so, but it’s hard work, hard work!” 


14 


314 


Was it an Inheritance f 


CHAPTER XVII. 

REUNITED. 

A BRIGHT morning in December of 1871. 

The new snow lay clean and white on the 
streets of “The Quaker City,” and its millions of 
angles reflected the prismatic hues, in the union of 
which, the perfect daylight stood revealed — life-giv- 
ing — universal in its benificence; as the light of the 
love of God is reflected from the thousands of inter- 
locking angles that form the heterogeneus mass of 
intelligences that swarm upon the earth, and thus 
becomes visible to darkened eyes. 

“ I believe something is going to happen, to-day — 
something remarkable,” said Sarah, as she seated her- 
self with Ruth and Tamer, in the railroad train, for 
New York. “I cannot imagine what it is, but I 
tremble as if in anticipation of something shock- 
ing.” 

“ Of course something is going to happen,” Ruth 
replied, in an assured manner. “ We are going to 
attend a great mass-meeting, and hear a great speech 
from a celebrated lady.” 

“ That is all very good, and enough to quicken 
one’s pulses; but, I suppose Dr. Brown will say it is 
all nervousness, and perhaps it is ; but I feel all the 


Or, Nannie Grant, 


315 


time as though I must be ready — must hold my 
breath — as if a cannon was about to be discharged 
near me.” 

“ Are you in fear of an accident?” 

“ No ; it is not fear. I had no thought of acci- 
dent.” 

“ You sympathize with Tamer, perhaps. You an- 
ticipate her nervousness for her.” 

“ I do not like to dispute my doctor ; but I do not 
believe it.” 

“ You feel more agitation for her, than she does for 
herself. How is it, Tamer, do you feel nervous 
about it ? ” 

“ Not in the least. It is the Lord’s work, and He 
knows whether His instrument is adapted to the 
work. If it is not, He will not use it.” 

“ What if you should fail?” 

“ If I do the best I can, that is His business. He 
may know a failure to be the best thing, to-night. I 
I am his tool.” 

<( You take it calmly.” 

“ Why should I not? I find passivity is best pro- 
moted by calmness. If I ‘wait on the Lord, He 
will renew my strength/ if best.” 

“I don’t see how you can put any fire into a 
public address, when you are in that mood.” 

a If the Lord wants any fire there, He will put it 
into my soul ; and all I have to do, is to give it 
utterance. Of course, the form of expression given 
to the facts and truths, and also to ‘ the fire,’ as you 


316 


Was it an Inheritance f 


choose to call it, must depend on the conformation of 
the mind of the speaker — on my gifts and attain- 
ments ; just as, though a sculptor chisels just what he 
wills, and as he wills, yet the finish and perfection of 
the work, in some degree, depend upon the tools with 
which he works. I am to prepare myself, the best I 
can, and do the best I can when before the people, 
and there my responsibility ends. The rest is the 
Lord’s matter, and He does not want me meddling.” 

“ Then you have no embarrassment ? ” 

“No. Why should I have? No responsibility 
lies on me, that I am not equal to ; and if I make a 
failure, as man sees, I still succeed as God sees it ; 
for He intended an apparent failure . You see it is 
His work , though we think it is ours y and that we are 
doing it; and I have so much more confidence in 
His breadth of vision, and in His skill in adapting 
means to ends, than I have in any human judgment, 
that I am willing to wait for His wisdom to vindi- 
cate itself.” 

“ Tamer Sacket, I would lay down all the books I 
have ever written, and all the gold and renown they 
have ever brought, or ever will bring me, if I could 
buy back my years that passed before I learned that 
lesson ! Thank God the first thing every morning, 
and the last thing every night, that you have learned 
it so early in life.” 

“ Aunt Sarah Grant, I think I do that.” 

The ladies were all vis-a-vis, and on the opposite 
side of the the aisle was a middle-aged gentleman, ap- 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


317 


parently reading a morning-paper, but, really, scru- 
tinizing our friends. 

He had the bearing of one who had seen much of 
the world, and that peculiarly assured manner that 
frequently marks a man of wealth. 

His features were regular, commanding, and very 
pale, and his hair was white as wool, though his form 
was erect and vigorous. His left sleeve hung empty 
and dangling. 

At the mention of Sarah Grant’s name, he drop- 
ped his paper and looked at her without reserve. 

“ Does your mother look at things in this way ? ” 
asked Ruth, as we still must call Dr. Brown. “ Ab- 
bie was so much older than Sarah and I, that I really 
have little recollection of her, except the way she 
used to gather us younger children about her and tell 
us stories.” 

“ Yes,” said Sarah, “ I often think of how she used 
to take Seth on her lap, and huddle the rest of us 
about her — Joe, and Lucy, and Henry, and you, and 
me; and George and Thomas would hover on the 
outskirts of the group, pretending to be doing some- 
thing else, but really listening to her stories with as 
much interest as any of us. It does not seem possible 
that that was so many years ago ! Does it, Ruth? ” 

“No, indeed ! Ah ! but we are growing old.” 

“ Ladies, please excuse me,” said the gentleman 
opposite, “ but I hear you use the names of Grant, 
and Abbie, and Sarah, and George, and Joe, Lucy, 
Ruth, Thomas and Henry ; and they are such fam- 


318 


Was it an Inheritance f 


iliar family names to me, that I think I may offer 
you my hand (extending his hand to Sarah), and say, 
I am your brother Seth, who sat on Abbie’s lap so 
long ago, and listened to her stories with you.” 

Sarah looked into his eyes a moment, and then 
grasped his hand and bowed her head upon it, and 
wept like a child; and he, strong man that he was, 
sobbed aloud. 

Ruth was more cautious. “ Was this really Seth 
Grant, her cousin ? ” 

She offered him a seat beside her, and gave him a 
cordial greeting ; yet led the conversation in a direc- 
tion that must have discovered an impostor. 

“We have been talking of Abbie’s stories ; have 
you any recollection of our early games ? ” she asked, 
a few moments later. 

“ Oh, yes , I haven’t had so many new friends as 
to forget the old ones ! One incident I recollect, 
which is about as far back as my memory extends.” 

He then gave an account of the building of the 
“play-house” in the fence-corner, substantially as 
Sarah gave it to her mother, in an early part of this 
narrative. 

“ I hope Cousin Ruth is now satisfied that I am 
really 1 little Seth , 9 ” said, he with an arch smile ; 
“ and that I may be allowed to hear all about my 
mother and the rest of my family ; for in all these 
years I have not heard a word from them, except that 
Captain William Grant was lost at sea, till about 
three weeks ago, I visited L- -, and I only found 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


319 


the homes of father, George and Lucy, and Uncle 
Phelps and Aunt Mollie. But their doors were 
closed, and the occupants too sound asleep to tell me 
aught of the living. 

“ Where is mother? She can scarcely be living 
yet. They told me there, that she moved away after 
father’s death ; but no one could tell me certainly where, 
except Sally Baker’s youngest sister, who is so old 
that some said her memory was not to be trusted. 
She said mother went to New York. Is she living? 
or if dead, where is her grave ? ” 

“ We do not know.” 

“ You do not know l I had neither street nor num- 
ber, but I went there, and made all the search possi- 
ble, but of course did not find her. 

“ I then went to Philadelphia, for Betsy Baker said 
Ruth and Aunt Mollie went there after uncle died, 
and that Ruth was a teacher in some school. That 
Philadelphia was the place to look for you, seemed 
well substantiated, for I learned by the sexton that 
Dr. Phelps’ daughter, and some relative of her 
mother’s, had recently been there to lay the body of 
the doctor’s w T ife beside his. I sought out every 
Phelps whose name I found in the Directory of 
Philadelphia, but in vain. Tell me, where do you 
have an idea mother is ? and how did you lose track 
of her?” 

“She went to New York to live with William and 
his son Joe, who married when quite young and his 
wife wrote several letters for auntie,” said Ruth; “but 


320 


Was it an Inheritance f 


suddenly they dropped the correspondence, and we 
could get no tidings from them. Sarah and I have 
visited that city repeatedly, and have done our best to 
find them, but without success.” 

“¥e think Joe must have left the city, or they 
are both dead,” said Sarah. 

“ I am going there now,” replied Seth, “ to visit 
the offices of all the cemeteries, and learn if she has 
been interred in any of them. If not successful 
there, I shall even try what can be learned concern- 
ing the interments in the potter’s-field. I am deter- 
mined to find her if she is within the limits of that 
city or its environs, either above or beneath the 
ground.” 

“ I think you may expect to find her among the 
dead, if it all,” said Tamer. “ Grandma would be 
very old if still living.” 

“Who is this young lady?” he asked, extend- 
ing his hand to Tamer. “ I have had no introduction, 

but I see the family resemblance. She must be 

Abbie’s daughter.” 

“ Ah ! you are shrewd at guessing. She is Abbie’s 
second daughter, and the third of her six children.” 

“All living and well?” 

“ All living, and all well, but one, — my youngest 
sister is afflicted with epilepsy, which is gradually 
ruining her mind. She was the brightest of the 
family. My only brother also had five or six of the 
same sort of attacks, but has, we think, entirely re- 
covered.” 


Or, Nannie Grant. 321 

“ How did George die, or where, and what has be- 
come of Joe?” 

Tamer then gave an account of the death of George, 
which had been given her by her Uncle Joe, and 
which was fearful news to Sarah also. 

“He, poor fellow, had said, when narrating it, 
e Tamer, it’s a good work you are going into, and 
though Pm a wreck myself, I hope the poor fellows 
to whom you may repeat these facts, may be wiser 
tli an I have been, — wise enough to take warning, and 
let the drink alone/ ” 

“Then am I to understand that Joe is a drunkard?” 

“No, not now. Poor Uncle Joe!” and Tamer 
turned her head away, to hide her tears. 

“ He is an inmate of an insane asylum,” whispered 
Euth. 

A silence of some minutes followed, broken at 
length by Seth, “ My brothers married ? Oh ! cer- 
tainly, William did.” 

“Yes; and to as fine a girl as Philadelphia could 
afford ; but she died some years ago, leaving an only 
child, a son. George died single. Joe has a lovely 
wife, and three children. The first was a very bright 
and exceedingly beautiful child, but a disease of the 
nerves destroyed her mind entirely. The next one 
is more intelligent, but not quite right,” said Euth, 
touching her head significantly. “ The youngest was 
born an idiot.” 

“And he is now insane, you tell me?” 

“And is pronounced incurable!” 

14 * 


322 


Was it an Inheritance f 


“That seems almost incredible. There was no in- 
sanity among our ancestors, was there?” 

“ None that I ever heard of,” said both Ruth and 
Sarah. 

“Uncle Joe suffered dreadfully from dyspepsia for 
a long time before he went crazy. When his mind 
really became unsound, he was desponding, and at- 
tempted suicide several times. Then he thought it 
would be better for all his family if they were dead, 
and attempted to kill them ; after which they had 
him confined.” 

“ The history of our family has, indeed, been a sad 
one,” said Seth, musingly. 

“Uncle,” said Tamer, “you have not told us of 
yourself. You have an empty sleeve. Were you 
maimed in the Mexican War?” 

“ No. I served through that war, in which I was 
promoted to a captaincy; then, after wandering about 
some time, I went to the mines of California. I did 
not remain in the diggings long, for they were not to 
my taste, but went to San Francisco, and from there to 
South America, and to the Indies. I have been to 
Europe twice, have made a great deal of money, but 
for years I drank it up, or squandered and gambled 
it away as fast as it came. I had a little property, 
though, when the war of the Rebellion broke out, 
where I lost my arm. I have known what it was to be 
the owner of hundreds of thousands, and I have begged 
for a crust of bread, or a drink of whiskey. I have 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


323 


experienced all the grades of drunkenness and degra- 
dation, for you know it was drink that made the 
rupture between father and myself. Father drank 
about four times as much as I did, and was never in- 
toxicated; but because my potations made me drunk, 
he scolded me for disgracing him. If he had taken less 
some years before, I might have been able to stand 
more, and I told him so, and that was what made 
the incurable breach. 

“But I will not recall the errors of the dead. 

“ When I was in the depths of my drunken degra- 
dation, a good Samaritan found me by the way-side, 
beaten, bruised, wounded, oh, how deeply ! and nigh 
to death; left by the thieves that had robbed me. 
He took me, not to an inn, for the robber’s den was 
there, — whiskey’s — but he took me to his own home, 
and ministered to me, — took care of me, strengthened 
me, soul and body, called me brother, and acted a 
brother’s part in that he cared for me as for his own, 
and remembered that the health of my body was 
essential to that of my soul ; and that this tabernacle 
in which I spend this part of my eternity, is as sa- 
cred in the sight of its Creator, as the celestial body 
will be which He will adapt to the next stage of my 
existence. 

“ By the blessing of God, I believe I have at length, 
through grace , conquered the appetite for strong 
drink. 

“But where are your brothers and sister, Cousin 
Ruth?” 


324 


Was it an Inheritance f 


“Mar y has ‘gone to her reward/ and three of her 
sons are in business in Philadelphia, and one is in 
Ohio. 

“ Brother Thomas still lives in Boston, but retired 
from active practice, and Henry is in Paris where he 
has been thriving the past ten years.” 

“Have you a family, brother?” asked Sarah. 

“ I had a wife,” he said sadly, “ one of the saints, 
and four as promising children as ever blest a father ; 
but they are all gone with consumption except my 
youngest son, who is attending a law-school in 
California. My wife’s consumption was the broken 
heart of a drunkard’s wife. 

“ She was all broken down during my years of de- 
bauchery, and though I tried hard to make amends 
during the last year of her life, it was too late to 
save her. 

“ But I hope soon to follow. I count my wealth by 
millions, all gained since I became a teetotaller, but 
it would not buy back the health I have wasted. If 
I wished for life ever so ardently, it could not pur- 
chase it. 

“Sarah keeps her old name I see.” 

“Yes, and always will,” said she, smiling. 

“Where are you ladies bound for to-day?” 

“For a Mass Temperance-Meeting in New York, 
and Tamer here, is to be one of the speakers; and 
I’m sure she could not have a better text than the 
circumstances recalled and recounted here to-day, and 
all so true,” said Sarah. 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


325 


“That is a noble work, as I ought to know, and to 
realize. I have myself delivered many temperance 
addresses during the last few years. But some of 
the temperance friends are pushing it into politics 
too much. It is the proper field for moral suasion, 
and like religion, should be kept out of politics.” 

The ladies did not express any dissent, but invited 
him to attend the meeting with them, which invitation 
he at once accepted. The time was well filled with 
reminiscences till they arrived at Jersey City, crossed 
the ferry and found quarters at the Astor House. 

After dinner they walked to the Convention Hall 
where a business-meeting was held, the great mass- 
meeting for speeches occurring in the evening. 

At the close of the session, as they were returning 
to the hotel, they passed through the City Hall Park. 

“ Oh, Ruth ! Seth ! Look ! Look ! Did you ever 
see so pitable an object? Tamer! Tamer!” (clutch- 
ing her niece by the sleeve), “You never beheld a 
worse looking object than that, Pm sure,” and Sarah's 
face was white as death, and she shook so that she 
could scarcely stand. “ Just look at that eye!” 

It was a child, a little boy not larger than ordinary 
at eight years of age, but with a face made old by 
suffering. 

He stood upon two crutches, beside the path, and 
the stump of a leg hung just above the deep-sodden 
snow. His clothes were thread-bare and tattered, 
and the cutting wind shook him like a reed. His 
right arm had been amputated a little below the 


326 


Was it an Inheritance f 


elbow; his head was bare, and of the most perfect 
mould, his thin black hair was streaming in the 
wind. His face was deathly pale, and his features like 
chiseled marble, so white and perfect in their form. 
One eye was gone, and the other, large, full and 
black, burned with a deep and unnatural glow. A 
hand, perfect in shape yet fearfully emaciated, ex- 
tended his ragged cap to passers by, though the 
bloodless lips were mute. Still as a statue, the 
handless arm hugging one crutch to his side, not a 
muscle moved except as weakness and the cold shook 
him ; his one great, eloquent eye told its tale of suffer- 
ing and want, as it rolled from one sympathizing face 
to another. 

Seth touched him gently on the shoulder. “ God 
help you, my boy, where is your mother?” 

The one eye turned upwards, and the lips trembled 
as they whispered faintly : 

" Up there, sir.” He trembled still more violently, 
and a tear stole over his white cheek, but not a 
muscle moved. 

“ Have you no friends?” 

The child was fainting. “ Where do you live? 
Tell me quick — and your name, I will help you.” 

They heard the street and number, but could not 
catch his name. Seth Grant caught him as he fell. 
He seemed to be in a state of semi-consciousness, and 
they hastened to the nearest street, and calling a car- 
riage, the four took seats, and laying their little burden 
on their laps, drove rapidly away. 



“They heard the street and number, but could not catch his name.” 










































































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Or, Nannie Grant . 


327 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

RELEASED. 

It was four o’clock in the afternoon, and the last 
day of 1871. 

The rising wind bustled about the streets of the 
great City, tossing the garments of the multitude that 
thronged Broadway, Grand-street, and the Bowery : 
catching up the long trails of dry-goods displayed to 
tempt the gift-buying crowd, and twisting, and twirl- 
ing, and waving, and streaming them far out over the 
heaps of soiled and mud-stained snow that lay along 
the verge of the pavements, and over the gutters ; 
slapping them in the faces of the pedestrians, without 
ceremony, as if to say, li There ! did you ever see 
carpeting that could beat that ? and was ever broad- 
cloth given away so cheap ? Here Peggie, buy your 
Patrick a coat, now ; sure and wouldn’t it be better 
than to be afther paying the money all out for the 
bonnet ye’re wantin’? and ye can jist as well take the 
auld one to the poor little milliner in the alley back 
there, and it’s a gem of a thing she’ll make of it, and 
be glad of the half-dollar ye’ll give her fur it ; and 
won’t that same half-dollar buy the bones to make 
the broth for her puer blind dad for many a day ? ” 
Then a gay streamer of delain or tartan plaid was 


328 


Was it an Inheritance f 


caught up with a jerk, and after dancing about in the 
style of a “jumping-jack,” dropped down upon the 
head of some staid old grandfather ; as if it said, “see 
here, these gay goods were made for just such little 
ones as those you saw hunting in their stockings about 
a week ago, for the toys you put there in the name of 
Santa Claus. He had the credit of that ; now make 
to yourself friends of the Mammon in your pocket, by 
buying each little elf a dress for the New Year.” 

Then right in the face of a substantial and dignified 
citizen, cracked a long trail of warm, serviceable flan- 
nel ; and while he endeavored to “ pull the wool from 
his eyes,” he nearly stumbled over a half-starved, 
half-clad little girl, who lifted her great hungry eyes 
to his, but dared not to speak; while from away 
down in some long-covered, musty corner of his heart, 
came the ridiculous suggestion, “ a half-dollar would 
buy that child a dress from that flannel — a fine New 
Year’s present!” 

“ Shaw ! what a fool I’m getting to be ! Guess I’m 
growing old — second i childhood/ and all that ! ” 

Then the same jolly wind whisked around a cor- 
ner, and upset the frail stand where stood a one- 
armed soldier, with but two fingers on the remaining 
hand, selling “Japanese Jugglers,” at ten cents each ; 
and before he had gathered his gay troupe together 
again, away ran two little rascals with their hands 
full, and never once looked back at the policeman 
who was on their track. Then it whistled up to an 
old woman with a large basket of cheap edgings, with 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


329 


bobbins lying half filled in the midst, which she ex- 
hibited to her customers as evidence that “ they’re all 
me own make, ma’am, real thread la.ce, every piece, 
for wasn’t it me own hands as made every inch ? ” 
This same saucy wind twitched her shawl about in 
such rude manner that it frantically threw its sprawl- 
ing arms back over her broad shoulders, and while 
she turned her back upon it, to adjust them, snatched 
a card of her best specimen, and slinging it away off 
across the street, left it under the wheel of a street- 
car. Then it hurried along, and seizing a delicate 
young girl with porte-monnaies to sell, it shook her 
till tears stood in the poor child’s eyes, and she sank 
down on the pavement, wrenching herself from its 
grasp only by the protection of her stand. 

The throng jostled and ran, even beyond its wont, 
for the cold was so intense that only abundant cloth- 
ing and rapid motion could save one from freezing. 

In the midst of the busy, gaily-dressed, shopping 
throng that hurried and pressed up Grand street, an 
old crone tottered along in safety. Though this same 
ill-bred wind chased her, pushed her, boxed her, 
clutched at her tattered shawl as if it would twitch it 
from her thin shoulders, and sought to tear the faded 
hood from the few gray hairs beneath it, she held the 
thin shawl so tightly with one wrinkled hand, and 
had fastened the old hood so securely with the strips 
of rags she had tied around it and her head, and held 
so tenaciously to the rude stick that served as a staff, 
that it failed of its cruel designs ; and the poor old 


330 


Was it an Inheritance f 


creature laughed feebly as she saw a full-dressed lady, 
in a heavy velvet suit and ample furs, puffing and 
panting, and nearly overpowered in the same conflict, 
though health bloomed on her cheeks, and age had 
not wrinkled her brow. 

“Aha!” said she, “if I am so withered and thin 
that, as Johnny says, the wind may blow me away 
some day, there’s some good in that ; for though I’m 
cold enough under the light load I carry, the wind 
slips by me and gives me but a brush, compared to 
the broadside that lady gets ; and if I had all that 
flesh and those clothes to carry, I’m sure the poor old 
limbs would give out entirely. But, dear-a-me! 
wouldn’t a little more flesh or flannel keep these poor 
old limbs from shivering so ? And if my shawl was 
thicker and larger, it would be heavier, I suppose ; 
but maybe, if I shook less from cold, I might shake 
less from weakness. 

“This old calico dress of mine! Let me see! 
Mattie Roberts gave this to me just one year ago last 
Christmas, and it wasn’t new then. She said I could 
have it if I could make any use of it. Ha, ha ! any 
use of it ! and it’s been my best dress ever since. No 
wonder it’s almost gone— just like me! Yes, just 
like me ! ” and she chuckled at the thought. “ Almost 
gone ! It was longer then. It came almost to the 
ground; but twice I have borrowed Susie Potter’s 
scissors and cut the rags off around the bottom ; and 
with that skein of thread I picked up with the rags 
at the tailor’s back-door, I did manage to hem it, 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


331 


though Fm sure it can’t be done as I used to sew 
when I had eyes to see. Dear-a-me! what eyes I 
used to have then ! and I used to wonder how I’d 
look when I wore specs; but it’s full three years 
now since the McFaddens stole my specs, when we 
first came to the alley. Bless his dear soul! what 
should I do if it was not for Johnny? He’s all the 
eyes I have, and about all my heart he’s got, too. 
Dear-a-me ! There was a neat little girl that used to 
skip across the fields, and down through the orchard, 
and over the brook on the little flat stones that Ben 
and I laid that June Saturday which was my birth- 
day, and there was no school. 

“ No, no ; that wasn’t me ! She had plump, dim- 
pled hands ” (and she looked at the withered claw 
that clutched the rude stick which was so indispen- 
sable to that old form), “ and she had neat, trim little 
feet — * fairy’s feet,’ Willie said, they were so small 
and she peered at her own ungainly shoes, which 
were only a pair of boy’s boots cut away at the ankle, 
and slit down in front, and tied with a bit of tow 
string. “ Ah ! she would never put a hose upon her 
foot if it had a hole in it the size of a pea; but I can 
scarcely find the way to the toes of mine for the 
ragged heals and soles; and she wore gay frocks, 
clean and whole, and her face was fair and un- 
wrinkled. Yes, and she had teeth; pearls, Willie 
called them, and I used to see them when she laughed 
before the glass. And she did laugh! Yes, she 


332 


Was it an Inheritance f 


laughed, for she was happy, and Fm glad she was, 
though I wish I was, too.” 

She stopped in front of a great store, where ladies 
and gentlemen were crowding their way through the 
double entrance, that kept the cold at bay. She 
stood timidly watching them ; her old heart, like her 
old limbs, nearly failing her; till an elegantly-dressed 
lady, with her little son, clad in rich velvets and furs, 
came out. The child came first, and turned to hold the 
unwilling door open for his mother’s exit, and thus 
discovered her, and exclaimed, in an audible whisper : 

“Oh, Mamma ! do see that old woman ! I do believe 
she is a hundred years old ! And do see how she 
trembles and shakes all over! And, Mamma, see 
her pull that old ragged shawl about her ; and what 
a poor old dress! And see! see!” pulling his 
mother’s skirts ; “ see ! there is her bare foot ! See ! 
right above her shoe there; and what shoes, tool 
Oh ! I know she is cold ! And she is older than 
grandma; isn’t she older than grandma? See! 
grandma doesn’t tremble so, and don’t look half so 
much like little Allie’s old rubber doll — all cracked 
up ! ” 

The lady paused and gave her little boy a dollar, 
and smiled to see him lay it into the tattered old 
woolen glove, from the extremities of which, four 
fingers and a thumb protruded, all swollen and sore, 
with each nail, either hanging loosely by its roots and 
ready to part from them, or making desperate at- 
tempts to cover the diseased and exposed extremities 


Or, Nannie Grant . 


333 


by new and distorted growths. Observing the pity- 
ing shudder of the child, as he looked at the sores, 
she said, in a feeble, little voice, so high it was almost 
inaudible, “ I froze them picking up the coal and rags, 
little boy. They look bad, I know, but I had no 
salve. I’m sorry they make you look pale, but I 
couldn’t help it.” Then, bracing herself with her 
stick, she made a vain attempt at a courtesy, and 
nearly fell, but caught by the door-post. “I can’t 
madam, indeed, but I thank you all the same ; and 
may the Lord bless ye, and spare your little son, to 
be a comfort to you when you are old and feeble like 
me. Yes, yes, may the Lord spare him ; and never 
let him go down in the cold sea, as my Willie did, 
who’d ’a been a staff to me now, and never let me be 
going about with an open hand for the pennies the 
kind people put into it. Oh! Nannie Wentworth! 
Nannie ! Nannie ! who would ’a thought you would 
ever come to this ?” 

The crowd pushed for admittance to the great em- 
porium of Lord & Taylor, and poor Nannie was 
forced in. A 

She had never entered there before, and would not 
now have done so of her own will, but there she 
stood, confused, bewildered by the busy throng that 
ran hither and thither among the vast display of 
goods, like bees in a flower-garden, or butterflies in a 
clover-field. 

The poor old lady, gazed about in utter amaze- 
ment, her eyes wandering from one counter to another, 


334 


Was it an Inheritance f 


and from one face to another, as if in a dream. Lean- 
ing against a counter, from which the trade had been 
temporarily diverted, the gay colors of a piece of 
plaid goods that hung over the balustrade from the 
third-story, so low that it nearly brushed the heads of 
the customers beneath, attracted her eyes, and, in- 
stantly, all else was forgotten. 

She stood, like one in a trance, the poor sore hands 
crossed upon the board before her ; the wrinkled face 
blanched, eyes wide open and staring; toothless jaws 
a-gap ; breath coming and going in quick, convul- 
sive sobs; the whole soul awakened to a life the 
poor old body could never know again. She was 
living in the days of sixty years ago. Gazing on that 
long sweep of dress-goods, she was again in the beau- 
tiful home with which she had surprised her young 
husband, on his return from his long voyage. Her 
heart was all aglow with joy. He had just finished 
his survey of her beautiful house, and was now open- 
ing his trunk, while baby Willie laughed and crowed 
upon her lap, as she sat upon a stool beside it. But, 
curious as she was, to see the contents of that trunk, 
the face that bent over it, had far greater charms for 
her. What a dear, honest, open face that was, 
weather-stained and dark by exposure, to be sure, but 
all the better for that, for was it not to make a home 
for her with him, that he went to sea ? How his heavy 
golden-brown locks swept down over his face, as he 
eagerly tugged at the straps, and his features writhed 
and twisted in sympathy with the nervous fingers, 


Or , Nannie Grant 335 

that were undoing the buckles ! And how plainly 
now she feels the silky locks, as she drew her fingers 
caressingly through them ; but her husband seemed so 
intent upon his endeavor that he did not notice, till 
baby fixed his chubby hands in his hair, in a manner 
that could not be ignored. Then she saw his blue 
eyes looking up at her, and away on into her soul 
(for she stood now by his side). She stooped to kiss 
him, and he put his arm about her, and drew her 
down beside him, and folded her and their babe to 
his breast for the twentieth time, and tried to say how 
glad he was to be at home again. 

“ But, Nannie,” said he, “you must not look at me 
all the time, or I shall think you do not care for my 
presents. You love gay colors and I like them for 
you, for they bring out the clear red and white of 
your complexion, and the sparkle in your eyes ; so 
here they are,” and he held up for her admiration a 
dress of just such plaid as this, on which she is now 
gazing. Her withered lips moved feebly, as she 
muttered, “ red, and green, and blue, and golden and 
purple, Willie, and baby, and home, and love, and a 
fire, and chairs, and books, and supper on a table — 
and Willie — and baby — and home ” 

“Please step out of the way, mother, for people 
want to come here;” and the clerk reached over and 
placed a small bit of money near her hands. 

She awoke with a start, to comprehend that she 
was in somebody’s way, though she did not notice 


336 


Was it an Inheritance ? 


the money — she did not realize that Willie’s wife, 
and baby’s mother, could receive charity ! 

She sighed a deep sigh, then laughed feebly again, 
clutched her old stick and moved away. “Here, 
mother,” called the clerk. She turned, and he pushed 
the money towards her. She tried in vain to pick it 
up ; her fingers were too sore, and she could not. 

A plainly-dressed lady dropped it into her pocket, 
with a small addition from her own purse. With 
thanks, and a “ God bless you,” she tottered out of 
the door, and the cold wind smote her to the bone, 
and nearly blew her into the street, where cars, omni- 
buses, and hacks were rushing furiously past with 
their crowded occupants, who were impatient to es- 
cape from the press upon the street, and the piercing 
storm, which had betrayed the bright promise of the 
morning, and set in with violence. 

Poor Nannie crept and dodged along as best she 
might; singing in her heart all the time, despite the 
storm; for had she not been home, and enjoyed all 
its love and comfort? Had she not seen Willie, and 
fondled and caressed her dear first baby, and received 
the caresses of them both ? What was wind, or snow, 
or ice to her? 

Over and over she repeated to herself, “eighty 
years old! eighty years! a long and weary way 
has it been, but the end draws nigh ! The end draws 
nigh!” and her heart beat so high with hope, that 
even the sore uncovered fingers were not cold. 

As the night settled down over the city, and the 


Or, Nannie Grant. 


337 


falling snow increased the darkness, she tried to 
hasten, but the poor old limbs were too feeble ; so 
she thanked God she could go at all, and tottered on. 

As she drew near Hod Street, she thought of little 
Johnny. Strange! he had scarcely been in her mind 
all the afternoon. She wondered if he was at home? 
— how he had got on to-day? — if the crowd pushed 
him as they did her? — how he could stand if they 
did? — if he had been very cold? — if he had fallen, 
or otherwise hurt the sore stump that had never 
healed? — and since the end for her was so near, who 
would care for him ? — who would gather the coal, 
and build the fire, and dress the sore stump? Tears 
coursed down over the wrinkles, and she said, “ Lil- 
lie! Lillie! why didn’t you draw him up? why didn’t 
you draw him up then? ’Twould have been hard 
for me then, but its harder for him now. But 
Johnny, Johnny, the Lord will make a way for you. 
But where are the stairs? Dear a’ me! Where are 
the stairs? This isn’t Will’s Court! I’ve lost my 
way ! Good Lord, I’ve lost my way ! I was never 
here before! Good Lord, don't let me lose my way! 
Don't let me die on the street! Do help me find 
Johnny! I must hold his hand, you know I must!” 
and she ran half-crazed up and down the alley that 
was dignified by the name of Hod Street. 

“Och! granny! and is this you?” said a kindly 
Irish voice. 

“Oh, Ellen McCarty! I’m so glad to meet you! 
The Lord has made you His messenger to help me, 
15 


338 


Was it an Inheritance f 


for you surely will ! I’ve lost my way, all of think- 
ing of Johnny, and you’ll tell me.” 

“No, yer not lost, Granny; ye’re right here; but 
bless your peur sowl ! this is the dridfulest night that 
iver was, fur a peuer auld body like ye to be out. 
Och ! an’ ye’re nearly freezin’, I’m sure ! ” 

“Oh, no Ellen! I’m not a bit cold, and I’m so 
light-hearted, only but for Johnny. I have seen my 
husband, and my baby; and I am going to move 
right to them! Eighty years old! That is four- 
score, and it is enough ; the Lord says it is enough ; 
and He ‘ will draw me right up ;’ only I don’t know 
how I’m to hold Johnny’s hand, and Lillie’s got the 
other, and he can’t stay down here and both his 
hands in heaven.” 

“But, Granny, you had better get up-stairs now; 
Johnny’s not home yet.” 

“Not home yet ! Poor child ! Poor child ! And 
the streets so full, and the wind so high, and so cold ; 
he never can get home ! But the good Lord won’t 
let him freeze; no, no, He won’t let him freeze !” 

“ Indade, and its glad I am yer in sich spirits the 
night, aiblins ye’re benumbed like ; an’ Granny, I be- 
lave ye’s caulder ner yer think. I’ll be afther helpin’ 
ye up the stairs, and land ye a dip, if ye nade it ; fur 
its bad enough time ye’ll have makin’ yer fire. I’d 
be glad to make it fur ye, but Misther McCarty’ll be 
ready to break me head fur me when I get back, fur 
even this stoppin’.” 

So Ellen’s strong arm nearly carried her old neigh- 


Or, Nannie Gh'anL 


339 


bor up the three flights of narrow stairs, to the gar- 
ret, where she could never have climbed unaided. 

“And have ye a dip?” said she, when she had 
seated Nannie on the heap of rubbish she called her 
bed. 

“There’s a bit o’ candle on the shelf, and two 
matches beside it.” Ellen lighted the candle and 
proceeded to kindle a fire, with a few sticks and a 
handful of coal she found upon the floor in a corner. 
“The witches or thefainds may take Jim McCarthy, 
which of ’em is the smartest ; but I’ll stay and make 
the fire,” she mutter ed. 

Ellen heard a whisper, and looking around, saw 
Nannie groping and fumbling with her sore and 
benumbed fingers, all over the bed and the wall be- 
hind it, and she was softly whispering to herself. 

“ What is it Granny ? What are you wanting ? 
What do you say ? spake louder and she went to 
her side. 

“ It is only a step farther ! only one step. There’s 
the flat stone. I see it ! Yes, Ben, I see it ! I’ll 
trust in the Lord — trust in the Lord, and step right 
along. It is all right, all right ! The rock is more 
solid than the water, and it’s heavier, and reaches clear 
to the bottom. I see it now ; and it won’t go any 
deeper when I step on it ! It’s the Lord’s promise, 
— the solid rocky and the waters can’t overflow it ! 
They’ll come and lead me over. Ben will come, and 
Mollie’ll come ! She’s her father’s darling, and she 
mustn’t get her feet wet ! They’re coming — almost 


340 


Was it an Inheritance f 


here.” (Then calling in a high, cracked voice), 
“ Johnny ! Johnny ! I must hold your hand. Come 
quick ! I promised Lillie I would, and I must. Come 
Johnny! Come! Come!” 

“Hush! hist, Granny! I hear a many feet;” and 
Ellen hastened to the door, and held the latch down. 

“ If Jim McCarthy dares to follow me here,” said 
she, I’ll tache him manners , sure an* I will ! ” 

The “ many feet ” approached the door, but, becom- 
ing impressed that it was not her enraged husband, 
she opened it at the first gentle tap, and there stood 
half-drunken Jim, but only as guide to Sarah, Ruth, 
Tamer, and Seth ; the latter bearing Johnny on his 
arm, lying over his shoulder, for he was too weak 
and ill to sit erect. 

“ Oh, Granny,” said he feebly, on entering the low, 
dingy, and comfortless room, “ Fm so glad you arc 
home. 

“ Ellen, is she sick ? ” as he discovered her upon 
the bed. “ Please, sir, lay me beside her.” 

“ Who calls Grannie?” said the poor old creature. 
“Tm Nannie , I’m Nannie Wentworth — Nannie 
Grant, too. Judge Wentworth’s Nannie — Willie 
Grant’s Nannie. Hon. William Grant’s wife,” (with 
dignity). They all know me, every one ! I don’t see 
how they do. I thought Lillie would have to tell 
them, and maybe she wouldn’t know me in this old 
frock. But they are all coming to meet me, and we’ll 
go over the brook together; * she’ll step on the smooth 
stones, and they’ll lead her so she shan’t get her feet 


Or y Nannie Grant 


341 


wet/ Here’s Johnny ! Oh, Johnny ! Dear little 
Johnny ! Dear little baby ! He’s got hold of his 
Mamma’s finger, and Grandma won’t let go. Draw us 
up now. You said it wouldn’t be long — only 
a minute — but it was ‘a minute of eternity ’ — it 
was a long one to us— but it’s over now, and we are 
ready, we’re all ready ; so bring us up. Lift, Jesus, 
you’ve got your arm around, and we’re all ready. 
Come Johnny ; come. Maybe we shall have to intro- 
duce each other, we are so changed, so changed ! But 
there won’t be any whisky there, Lillie said there 
wouldn’t; ‘only the water of life;’ and the hydrant 
doesn’t freeze, either, and they’ll always have coal. 
Johnny, keep tight hold of Granny’s hand, for they’ll 
lift us up pretty quick ; pretty quick.” 

11 Mother ; my own dear mother ! don’t you know 
Sarah ? Your daughter Sarah f ” 

“Sarah? why, yes, I know my dear daughter 
Sarah. Oh, how I’ve wanted you ! But you went 
over, ten years ago ; and I was glad for your sake. 
You have come for me now? Dear girl, and I’m 
ready. Johnny, they are beginning to come.” 

Seth kneeled by her side, and withdrawing the old 
gray woolen glove, held her little shriveled hand to 
his lips, his cheek, his brow, a*id with it he wiped the 
tears from his own streaming eyes. 

“ Who is this man,” said she, rising to a sitting 
posture, “ His eyes are like my youngest son’s, my 
baby’s. Poor Seth, poor dear boy, he thought he 
had no home, nor father nor mother, but he didn’t 


342 


Was it an Inheritance f 


know. He always had a mother, and he had a father 
again after a while ; but he didn’t know it, poor boy ! 
poor boy ! 

“ Yes, these are his eyes, but he hadn’t white hair. 
He had beautiful brown hair like his father’s, and 
his face was smooth.” 

“ Mother, I am Seth, your youngest son ; and I 
have come to give you the best home that wealth 
can buy.” 

“ And did the Mexican war take you over ? Yes, 
it is the best home ; Lillie said it was, ‘ Home, home, 
sweet, sweet home.’ She’ll come pretty soon. Ah ! 
and there is Mary and Ruth ! Isn’t that Ruth ? I 
didn’t know they had gone. I guess the Lord forgot 
I was to go ; but I told him all the time.” 

“ But, mother,” said Sarah, “I’m not dead; just 
feel my hand. You see I have a body. It touches 
yours. I am not dead /” 

“ Ah ! no. 6 Not dead, but born into a new life,’ 
as sister Mollie used to say.” 

Thus she went on, the realities of this life eclipsed 
by those of the next, and the anticipations of the 
next so blissful, and the reminiscences of the past so 
sad, that it seemed selfishly cruel to undeceive her. 

Jim McCarty had wthdrawn at once, and return- 
ing to his own home on the third floor, he be- 
thought himself to have another dram, by way of 
spiting Ellen for her negligence. So he shuffled 
along down to the street ; where, in the shelter of the 
door-way, stood a crouching figure which crept to- 


Or, Nannie Grant. 343 

wards him, as he advanced, with — “ For the love of 
mercy, sir, can you give me a shelter to-night?” 

“ I ? Me one room’ll not hauld Mrs. McCarty and 
mesilf the night ; espacially, as I’ve had a drap, and 
Ellen’ll be on the rampage for it.” 

“ My God ! must I perish on the street? See how 
the storm drives, man !” 

“ There’s the police stations,” said Jim. 

" Not there ! not there !” and the crouching form 
shuddered. 

“ Arrah ! but there’s a sort of hospital, ye’ll find 
— a charity hospital, in the garret yon, Nannie 
Grant’s the proprietor and chief patient. Maybe 
ye’ll find shelter up there;” and he shook with 
laughter at the cleverness of the joke, as he watched 
the emaciated wretch, leaping up the stairs like a 
madman. 

“ Eight on up, till the top of the house, and much 
pleasure may ye find meetin’ Ellen McCarty, my 
dear.” 

The door opened, and a haggard man, worn to a 
skeleton, with large, restless eyes, and tangled jetty 
locks, looked in. 

He caught sight of the death-stricken form, as it 
sat smiling, upon the bed, and with that glance com- 
prehended the situation. Heedless of all others, he 
rushed to the bed-side, and fell upon his knees. 
" Granny ! Granny ! I’m Joe, come back to beg you 
say that you forgive me for that horrid deed ! If you 
can, maybe God will. I’ve skulked, and hid, and 


344 


Was it an Inheritance f 


starved, and begged, with death and justice at my 
elbow, these five long years ; afraid of myself, even 
of my very shadow. I would have killed myself, long, 
long ago, but that I’m more afraid of God, and 
Johnny and his mother. I wouldn’t have left you 
starving all alone, but to come near you was to curse 
you : and God knows I’ve done enough of that ! 
Oh ! Granny ! say you forgive me, and maybe the 
others can ?” 

“ Why, Joe ! you’ve come to take my hand, 
haven’t you?” (smiling). “I thought I was all 
ready before, but I forgot. I’m old and I forgot ! 
Lillie said I should take your hand, and Johnny’s 
hand, and she and Jesus would just draw us up.” 

“ But, Granny, I’m a murderer ! My hands are red 
with my own child’s blood! Yet I loved him ! You 
know I loved him /” 

“ It wasn’t Joe that harmed Johnny. It was rum, 
accursed rum ! But the Lord saved his life, and 
now we’re ready to go — all ready.” 

“But Lillie and Johnny will never let me come. 
I killed him, after all my cruelty to her. I saw the 
horses trampling on his face, and the heavy wheel on 
his foot. It is burnt in red fire all through 

MY BRAIN !” 

She patted his hand gently, and said, in soothing 
tones ; “ But the Lord reached right down, and al- 
most covered him up with his hand, and they didn’t 
kill him ! N o, they didn’t ! He’s right here now, 
and going along with me.” 


345 


Or, Nannie Gh'ant. 

The one great eye opened, (for Johnny had ap- 
peared to be sleeping), and the little attenuated hand 
crept out of Granny’s, and fondled the haggard face 
beside him, then rested on the hand of Joe, while 
the feeble voice said, “Papa, come up to Heaven. 
We all want you there.” 

Then the little hand crept back into Granny’s the 
eye closed, and Johnny slept his last sleep. 

“My boy! My little son! found, and lost in a 
breath. Oh, Granny! is this truly he?” 

“ As true as truth can be ; and Lillie said I should 
hold his hand and yours, and we’d all follow her. 
Come Joe come!” and she grasped the hand of the 
dead, and that of the living, and the radiance of an 
opening heaven lit her features as she raised her face; 
her chin dropped down, — she fell back, and was gone. 

Literally, the quiet of death reigned in that room. 
Not even a sob to startle the tiniest seraph in the 
heavenly escort, or a motion to stir the down upon 
his wing. Joe still stood upon his knees, with eyes 
fixed upon the dead faces, and holding fast to Grand- 
ma’s hand. 

At length Tamer took a well-worn Bible from the 
ledge of the low, four-paned window near which she 
stood, and opening it at random, read by the light of 
the flickering candle which Ellen held, There was 
none to guide her among all the sons whom she had 
brought forth; neither was there any that took her 
by the hand of all the sons that she had brought up. 
They have fainted, they lie at the head of the streets 
15 * 


346 


Was it an Inheritance f 


as a wild bull in a net; they are full of the fury of 
the Lord, the rebuke of thy God. Therefore hear 
now this, thou afflicted, and drunken, but not with 
wine : thus saith the Lord, thy Lord, and thy God 
that pleadeth the cause of His people. Behold, I 
have taken out of thine hand the cup of trembling, 
even the dregs of the cup of my fury ; thou slialt no 
more drink it again : but I will put it into the hand 
of them that afflict thee; which have said to thy soul, 
Bow down, that we may go over; and thou hast laid 
thy body as the ground, and as the street, to them 
that went over. I, even I, am He that comforteth 
thee: who art thou, that thou shouldst be afraid of 
a man that shall die, and of the son of man which 
shall be made as grass ; and forgettest the Lord, thy 
Maker, that hath stretched forth the heavens, and 
laid the foundations of the earth?” 

Then approaching Joe, and laying her hand upon 
his shoulders, she continued, “ ‘ deliver thyself as a roe 
from the hand of the hunter, and as a bird from the 
hand of the fowler. The God of our fathers hath 
chosen thee that thou shouldst know His will, for 
thou shalt be His witness unto all men of what thou 
hast seen and heard. And now why tarriest thou ? 
arise, and call upon the name of the Lord/ Come. 
‘ Save thou a soul, and it shall save thine own !’ ” and 
she led him from the room. 

The storm had spent its fury, and the temperance 
meeting was crowded, mainly with members of Tem- 
perance Societies. 


Or y Nannie Grant. 


347 


We need not attempt a report of Tamer's address. 
Never had she prayed more fervently, u now, Lord, 
let me lend myself to Thy influence," nor been more 
certain that “the spirit of the Lord was upon her, 
because He had anointed her to preach the gospel to 
the poor. He had sent her to heal the broken-hearted, 
to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering 
of sight to the blind ; to set at liberty them that are 
bruised." 

She briefly recapitulated the facts given in this nar- 
rative of one family's experience in connection with 
alcoholic drinks, and graphically portrayed that day's 
events and revelations, which never could have trans- 
pired, had they who knew their duty, been true to 
God and man. 

“ That temperament, form, and features, are trans- 
mitted from parent to offspring is not more demon- 
strable, than that diseases follow the same law; 
whether afflicting the soul or the body; and that 
even where only functional in parents, they usually 
become structural in their children. As consumption, 
scrofula, and various other diseases, sometimes change 
their form in passing from one generation to another, 
only to reappear again in the former guise, so with 
the love of intoxicants, and the many diseases and 
moral obliquities they originate. Our land is filled 
with these diseased ones, and the wailings of those 
that mourn because of them. What, then, is the 
duty of the hour? 


348 


Was it an Inheritance f 


“ ‘ We that are strong ought to bear the infirmities 
of the weak, and not to please ourselves/ 

“But not alone for the sake of the dypso-maniac, 
ought they that think themselves ‘strong enough ’ to 
be ‘moderate/ to be abstinent; (for, alas! who reckons 
himself weak till his locks are already shorn by the 
Delilah he trusted, and he gropes in blind feebleness, 
bows himself to slay his enemy, and is crushed be- 
neath his weight and that of his crumbling habita- 
tion,) but because *‘ alcohol is poison to every human 
system, and in all its forms and degrees of strength 
produces irritation of the stomach, which is liable to 
result in’ the worst forms of disease of that, and 
thence of every other organ in the body ; and f ‘ no 
other poison has yet proved to have that power which 
resides in alcohol, to impair the normal operation of 
reason and the moral faculties/ Total-abstinence, 
then, is but bearing one’s own burdens. 

“ But, alas ! how many of the abstinent and strong 
say to these weak and sickly ones, ‘ Bow down, that 
we may go over;’ ‘and they have laid their bodies as 
the ground, and as the street, to them that went over/ 
“How many total-abstainers owe official positions to 
corruption through the grog-shops, which are yokes 
of iron upon the necks of the weak and helpless, and 
have paved the morass of party strife with human 
victims, over which they strode to success ! 

* Dr. Sewell, President of Columbia College, 
t Dr. Elisha Harris’ paper presented to Nat. Temp. Con- 
vention, 1873. 


349 


Or y Nannie Grant, 

“ Let us call to our Temperance Societies, Lodges, 
Divisions and Temples all we can ; but guard against 
desertions by moving upon the foe . Stagnation is 
death ! Life and action are synonymous ! We must 
attack the enemy, or to what purpose are we asso- 
ciated? — the very aggregation of our numbers will 
breed, dissolution in our organizations, and thwart 
their original endeavors.” 

At the close of her earnest appeal, Joe Grant 
sprang to the platform, and burning words leaped 
like red-hot lava from his lips. The hardest granite 
in his soul was seething in a molten mass, and his 
language was but the overflow of its ebullition : 

“ Miss Sacket had well said, ‘ activity and life are 
synonymous, and stagnation is death/ ” He told the 
story of his life, with tears and shame confessing all. 
“ And now,” said he, “ ten years have passed since 
with my wife — a saint while yet on earth, and wor- 
shipped by me then, as now — I joined one of your 
societies, pledged to total abstinence and the over- 
throw of its foe. Ten years! Oh, what horrors 
have not those years brought me! Ten years of 
conflict with foes within, and hundreds of foes with- 
out — foes to whom government, of which you are a 
part, sells the right to fight and slay such tempted 
and distracted brothers as I am — to fight your Socie- 
ties, and those you are trying to save ! Ten years, 
dragging a vile fiend chained fast upon me ; and on 
every street and corner — in the hotels and restaurants 
— the places where those away from home-restraints 


350 


Was it an Inheritance f 


must go for food and shelter — indeed, on every hand, 
the sentry-box where your state-agent tends the flame 
that reddens the instrument of torture he supplies, 
with which this demon goads my soul to madness! 
Mazeppa-like, I have no choice of paths ; but, torn 
and bleeding, must rush on till horse and rider — man 
and appetite — shall fall and die together ! Did I not 
love my wife ? Did I not love my child ? Before 
high Heaven I say, Hhen no man here to-night loves 
his\* I would have counted my life valueless to 
save theirs. Yet, if the price I sat upon their lives 
had been multiplied a thousand times, I could not 
have passed a dram-shop when the craving was on 
me, having scented the drink within, had I known 
their lives would be the price of the dram ! * It is 

insanity ! * Yes, His insanity; but you, your pledges, 
and your God, bid me fight it, and He (raising his 
tattered and emaciated arm to its utmost height, and 
with his trembling finger pointing upwards), He 
knows that I have fought it for ten long years , while 
you have sung your temperance songs and sustained 
my enemy with your government’s arm ! Which way 
way shall I turn ? Whither shall I flee ? for he has 
grown strong, and the leashes you hold him by, over- 
lap and cover all my path. 

“ Build your bulwarks to the skies, and the God of 
mercy prosper you ; but we must leave their cover 
when we go to our daily toil ! Oh, tell me, men and 
brethren, what shall I do f I hate the drink ten 
thousand times more than any one who is not , or has 


Or, Nannie Gh'ant. 


351 


not been its slave knows how to hate it! I would 
be free ! Oh, God ! Thou know’st I would be free ! 
Yet every nerve in my body is manacled, and how 
shall my will exact obedience? Not all men are like 
me: thank God for that! Yet there are thousands 
of men, and women, too, who with me hold up their 
shackled hands, and beg you * deliver us from the 
body of this death ! , And there are boys and girls, 
ah ! and babes — little innocent babes ! — who pine and 
moan under the constant craving of want, want , 
want; always something their diseased nerves cry 
for, and have not ; till by-and-by they taste the cup, 
and all is lost ; and you wonder why they are so de- 
praved ! I’ll tell you why. ’Tis because at birth 
their nerves were those of topers! Their fathers 
made them such. And who supplied the means to 
kindle perdition for them, e’er they saw the light of 
this world? Ye voters and politicians — dram-drink- 
ing or abstinent — answer! Ye, whose ears are, on 
election-days, deaf to the cry of the needy? Before 
the Court of high Heaven, I accuse you to-night ! 
High Heaven, that knoweth the secrets of all hearts 
and lives! Why have you not asked your office- 
seekers, ‘will you destroy the grog-shops?’ Why 
have you failed to contract with your candidates for 
this vital necessity? In the name of that just Court , 
I charge you with my blood and crimes ! ” 

He rushed from the stage and the house. 

Down the Bowery he ran, neither knowing nor 
caring whither. 


352 


Was it an Inheritance ? 


“Helloo, there, Joe Grant! glad to see you, old 
fellow ! HaVt seen you since that voyage you made 
with our cap’en. Come, take a dram for old times.” 

Joe refused; was pressed ; refused again and again; 
but his tipsy acquaintance would not desist, but 
dragged him to the bar of a saloon, and with the aid 
of those present, forced a dram upon him ; and then 
more followed. A quarrel ensued — words — blows — 
a glittering steel — a flash — a report — and another 
soul stood before God ! 

Reader, what shall he say you have done to save 
him from his inheritance ? 




















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